


The Raven Paradox

by Raquiesha



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 47,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23037649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raquiesha/pseuds/Raquiesha
Summary: Elissa Cousland wakes up in the Fade, her heart relieved from all the earthly burdens that once haunted her. But she will not be grateful for long. She learns of betrayal, and in a place where time does not exist, the hurt never fades.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Morrigan (Dragon Age), Morrigan/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew I was dead. I had been in the Fade before, in scentless dreams and something in between illusion and reality, but my instincts told me that only the Fade could hold such a stale smell of nothingness.

“Thank you, my love,” I whispered. Tears burned my eyes, but a faint smile tugged at my lips. Morrigan had let me make the ultimate sacrifice, and while my soft words would have brought out a grimace from her, she in that final act proved her love to me. For that, I was grateful beyond words.

The realization that I was dead gladdened me. A heavy burden lifted from my crushed chest. No longer did I have to fear abominations, darkspawn, and the dark hearts of men. No nightmares were going to plague me. In the Fade, I would not have to sleep.

Something in my arms moved, and it was first then I opened my lids. I was surprised. My eyelids were no longer heavy; I did not need to pry them open. Even before the archdemon’s tail crushed my chest, I had spent almost a year trying to catch my breath, my body slowly weakening under all responsibilities. And here I found that I did not have to breathe.

What a blessing death was.

Yet, I held my breath. I could not believe what it was that I cradled in my arms. The creature squealed, and it sounded nothing like Schmooples’ gentle peeps or the whimpers my dog made as a pup. It blinked its transparent third eyelids at me, small and innocent and scaly.

I knew immediately who it was that I held.

“Urthemiel,” I said softly, more not to scare it rather than myself. It did not react. The reptilian was no longer the archdemon that had claimed my life; it was a newly hatched dragonling, unsullied by dark entities. Its eyes held no malice, only curiosity.

I pressed it closer to me, wanting to share my warmth. But my body was not warm, and it was not cold. It began to toss and turn restlessly in my arms. I knew its instincts made it want to roam the dead, ashen skies. My eyes softened in understanding, and first, it appeared lost and fragile as I carefully put it down on the ground. My heart swelled when it, after a few treading steps, fearlessly scurried away, leaving a trail of swirling mist behind it.

It would never grow wings larger than a butterfly’s, and never would it become attached to me. Yet I felt like a piece of me was lost when I lost sight of it.

I decided then that I would manage.

I, just as the dragonling, soon grew restless and began to explore my barren surroundings. The sun -- if it now was a sun -- glowed a sickly green. While I was used to blighted landscapes, I’ll admit that it all took me some time to get used to. The landscape around me was forever changing, and I soon scolded myself for getting lost. It was useless to navigate in the Beyond, and none of my earlier knowledge could be put to use. I was not a mage, and while the demons were unable to harm me, they mocked my ignorance. Loudly.

It could have been days or months or years before I sought refuge in the crack of something that resembled a rock. I had wandered the Fade, and as time lost its meaning, I began to lose bits of myself. I had no past, no present, and definitely no future. Men had grown mad for less.

When I prayed with Leliana the night before the last battle, I already knew I would not survive. Riordan was courageous and bold, but old counted in Grey Warden-years. I saw signs that the Calling already whispered in his ears. As I kneeled on the velvet hassock next to Leliana, my hands joined in orison, the only thing that comforted me was the thought of seeing my family. That I, at last, was to spend an eternity with them by the Maker’s side. At Haven, my father’s spirit told me they were waiting for my arrival.

The knowledge that they would wait for me for forever was disheartening. It nearly broke me, my body shuddering in prickling panic. But as always, I clamped my jaw together and decided that this was another thing I could manage.

It was a good thing that I had an eternity to come to terms with it.

The last time I died, Flemeth breathed life back into me. My fleeting soul found its way back to my body, and I woke up to Morrigan’s amber eyes. It was my first good memory after I fled from Highever. Her eyes had been tight and hard while her caring hands had soothed my burning skin.

I remember that as soon I set my eyes on the staff that leaned against the hut’s rotten planks, I was mildly put unnerved. Magic was something to be frightened of, no matter how in tune with the world it was. The Revered Mother in Highever’s Chantry had, when I was young, scared me to tears with tales of blood mages.

Some things were just not easily forgotten.

Other vaguer memories began to creep into my mind: blood and piss and screams and vomit. I recognized the Tower of Ishal and knew it was the battle of Ostagar, and if my memories were indeed correct, I was probably guilty to do them all.

Nothing Cailan, Duncan, Loghain, or Ser Cauthrien had told me could have prepared me for the horrors of the battlefield. I was not a shield maiden like my mother, not an officer like my father. I had been Anora’s lady-in-waiting, my life filled with silk dresses, Nevarran wine, and jewelry.

Thank the Maker for Alistair. He had not only taught me swordplay but to be humble. It was his most important gift to me, and I came to wonder if Alistair ever would forgive me for saving Loghain’s life and make sure he was crowned king. Maybe he abdicated as soon the war was over, annulling his marriage to Anora, and rejoined the Order.

It would not have surprised me.

The Sten was the one who taught me patience. Andraste knows I was in great need of it. The lust of vengeance almost engulfed my soul and mind. If not for him, I would probably just have slaughtered Howe and then let the darkspawn drag Ferelden into the Abyss.

Leliana, however, was the one that taught me forgiveness. If she had the heart to forgive Marjolaine (before killing her), I could forgive Howe ( _after_ killing him), forgive my mother and Gilmore for staying behind, and lastly forgive myself for leaving with Duncan.

I stopped rocking back and forth when Morrigan reentered my thoughts. A visceral memory of her curling toes sprang to mind, and I fixed my eyes on the sickly-colored horizon. I hoped I taught her to love. Selflessly, unconditionally. She might never use those exact words herself, but…

I caught something intently staring at me. My muscles went rigid. Maybe the demons could hurt me after all, and eternal torment was my punishment. Maker knew how much I sinned.

But as I studied the figure more closely, I let myself relax. The figure, golden and blinding in all its glory, closed the distance between us, its steps slow and measured. Just as I had spoken calmly to the dragonling, not wanting to scare it, I suspected that the figure walked carefully not to frighten me.

“Elissa,” it said as soon it stood before me. Its mouth did not move when it spoke. “Wynne wants you to know that you need not fear.”

It put a hand against my cheek, and its touch reminded me of a soft breeze.

“Wynne?” I wondered, but of course, it made sense. Who else but benevolent Wynne, accompanied by this equally benevolent spirit, would send someone to look after me? “Who are you?” I asked then, my defenses down. For all I knew, this could be a demon posing as a spirit, but I was alone and vulnerable. A perfect prey, except that demons wanted nothing to do with someone dead.

“Do you not remember me?” she said, her voice all cotton and velvet. “I am the Spirit of Faith. Wynne sent me to you. She wants you to know she tries to bring you back.”

My mouth fell open. Was my body never recovered and set on flames, and was that the reason why I was in the Fade? Or worse -- had Wynne began dealing with blood magic? It was hard to imagine her turning to that, but few things shocked me by now.

“When I told her you were here, she asked her son for help. At last, she has found him, and they are trying to find a way.”

I didn’t know what to say. Wynne’s son was alive? How old could he be, by now?

“You knew I was here?” I asked after a moment, feeling dumbfounded.

“Of course,” she said. “I have been watching you for a long time, keeping the demons at bay.”

I wetted my lips. “For how long?” I could have been dead for days, decades, or centuries, but if Wynne was alive, the former was more likely.

The Spirit smiled. It warmed me. “I do not know the concept of time.”

“Can she not come here?” I asked then, hope swirling in my midriff. The things I would do to see her again. Wynne, always my savior, my healer. She who taught me that the sanctimonious Revered Mother had been wrong. From Wynne, I learned that magic could do good.

The Spirit of Faith shook her head, crushing my dreams. “No, she can not.”

My voice was a mere whisper when I spoke, and it quivered. “Why does she wish to bring me back? Do she not wish me peace?”

If the Spirit of Faith been a human, she would have sighed. “You did not die, Elissa. You are a spirit made of flesh, and you can be free.”

“What? Am I not dead? How?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

I had not taught Morrigan selfless, unconditional love. My heart panged loudly in my chest, and my hands grasped at it. I blame only myself. Leliana, Alistair, Wynne - they all warned me. Maker’s breath, even Morrigan herself did. 

I should have known she was to betray me to get Urthemiel’s soul.

I collapsed to my knees, screaming. The Spirit of Faith left me, her golden glory slowly dissolving, and I crawled back to the rock and cowered.

Morrigan had bedded Alistair. The picture of their union hounded me. 

In doing so, she stole not only my trust and sole purpose as a Warden, but also my death.

For that, I decided to never forgive her.


	2. Chapter 2

The only constant thing in the Fade for me was, literally speaking, my rock. No matter how far I traveled the misty realm, somehow, I always found my way back to it. Or rather, as the Spirit once explained, it found me. Why or how didn't matter - only that it was there, keeping hold of my sanity.  
It was first after the Spirit said that it must have been forged from my mind an old memory sprang to life. I grasped it before it slipped away, reliving the breezes that once had wafted the scent of wildflowers and sea spray into my nostrils.

Fergus, Nathaniel, Delilah, Thomas, and I, still young and light-hearted, used to play in the groves around Highever. Nan ran about, trying to herd us like the shepherd hound she was, her face red and sweat pooling in her deep wrinkles. We thought it to be a funny sight, and when we tired of pretending sticks to be mighty swords, we made a play out of her looking for us.

We hid, and we did so quite well until she yielded and offered us sweetmeats if we turned ourselves in. We always did. 

One day, however, Nathaniel decided that Delilah and I weren't welcome to play with them. Fergus, chivalrous as always, tried to speak for us, but Thomas was on Nathaniel's side. My brother was outnumbered, and after that, Delilah and I conspired to show them that girls in no way were lesser men.

We crept away from the grove while Nan for once enjoyed herself, reading a book, leaving the mighty clashes of leaf-stripped branches behind us. Our brothers' warcries ringed loudly amongst the thickets, effectively hiding our giggles.

We sprinted over the fields of rye and wheat and ryott, reaching another grove. Then we did the same again, and again, and again. Eventually, when our brothers' warcries since long had silenced and our spindled legs had grown heavy from exhaustion, we agreed to stop at the next grove.   
We stayed and explored it. By lifting stones, we found tiny, unexplored worlds crawling with life. By raising our eyes up the treetops, scrunching them as the bright sun shone through the crowns, we spotted squirrels that climbed the trees. The many birds and insects - our own choir, sang for us alone. 

It did not take long before we decided that it was a paradise, and with gleeful smiles, we figured it would take Nan some time to find us. Delilah and I crossed our fingers, our hearts pounding triumphantly against our small chests. Hopefully, it would take long enough for Nathaniel and Thomas to deem us worthy of playing with them.  
While midday turned to eve, we were Champions of the Grove. Our swords were the mightiest ever seen, our tale legendary, our stomachs growling. It did not matter. We'd tasted freedom, and it was better than any sweetmeats, for a short while.

By the time it began getting dark, our tale was no longer legendary. I happened to hit Delilah's nose with my stick, and blood streamed down her chin and neck. She cried, I cried, and somewhere out in the fields, an animal cried its dying wails. We cried even more, hungry, tired, and utterly terrified of the wildlife.

Eventually, we sought refuge at a rock. Her nose stopped bleeding, and with puffy eyes, she forgave me. Huddled together, we fell asleep, with the still sun-warm stone against our cheeks and shoulders. 

In the morning, we stirred awake to my dog's wild barks.   
My favorite part of the story is that Father and Fergus wept together with me when I crashed into their arms, their faces dark and grey after missing a night of sleep. Their love was evident in their faces, and my chest ached with love for them in return. Nan, first hysterical and then overjoyed, grabbed me tightly by the time Father let go of me and kissed away my tears. After that, Delilah and I were always welcome to play with them, but it was probably rather out of pity than anything else. 

The muscles around my mouth relaxed as my smile faded together with the memory. As I had then, I found myself sitting by my little rock, but without Delilah by my side, knowing that no one but Wynne was looking for me. The stone was no longer sun-warm against my shoulders. I sighed, at last fully returned to the present, and weighed my options. The Spirit had told me there were two ways for me to leave the Fade. The options sounded simple; either I could let a demon kill me, or Wynne could try to open a portal. 

I leaned my head against the jagged stone. While I longed to see my family again, the thought of dying by the claws of a demon did not sound too tempting. In my opinion, I'd already died a few too many unnecessary deaths. I needed to make my last count.  
My hands clenched into fists, the knuckles whitening. Even if I wanted to perish, my honor as a Warden told me I could not. By allowing the Old God's soul into the realm of men, Morrigan put all of Thedas to risk.   
I would not allow myself a blissful death before I righted what I failed.

"Forgive me, Warden-Commander," I said to the empty vasts before me, my voice scratching my raw throat. "Wynne was right. I should not have trusted Morrigan. I should never have strayed from the path of the Warden."  
I wonder what Duncan thought about me, wherever he was. If I were him, I would be utterly disappointed every time I looked at the sorry excuse that was Elissa Cousland.   
I killed the archdemon, after all, but was folly enough to put faith in that my lover cherished her promise not to sleep with my brother-in-arms.  
"Was it that much to ask, Morrigan? To keep one single promise?" My voice thickened as the words echoed out into the nothingness. As expected, no one answered me. I laughed then, a short and hard laugh as I once again felt my heart tear in pieces. What would Morrigan's answer have been? I looked down at my pale hands with my jaw clamped shut. I still wore the ring she gifted me. I should have broken it, but it was the only gift she gave me, and maybe, I thought, she even knew I was still here? A part of me hoped so because, in that case, my vengeance could be greater. 

I admit it. I was naive. I was naive even though I had seen Cailan fall due to treachery. I had seen Duncan end the life of Ser Jory at my Joining, only because rotten tongues could not spread the Order's secrets. I should have known not to trust her. She was a Witch of the Wilds, after all. Daughter to Flemeth herself.  
Maker, I was so --  
Although my chest no longer appeared crushed, the former injury still sent bolts of pain to my limbs. Tears trickled down my cheeks, and my vision blurred. I pressed my back against the stone, trying to harbor myself. I closed my eyes.  
What had I done?

"Hush, child." 

I thought I dreamed it, but as I carefully opened my eyes, the Spirit of Faith stood in front of me. She smiled, and in that smile, I returned to my mother's tight embrace. I heard my mother's heartbeats, slow and steady, and when I moved my ear down her belly, something rumbled. I laughed, a child's careless laughter, and she joined in with me, putting her embroidery aside…

"I brought someone with me," the Spirit said. I no longer found it uncanny that her lips did not move. "Someone who has waited to meet you."  
The Spirit swept her golden arm, her warm light velvet to my eyes, her voice cotton to my ears. I drowned in it, and I was reborn in it. Then I lay eyes on the figure next to her, and finally, I melted. 

"Wynne," I said, reaching out a hand to the wizened and white-haired woman. She was indeed my healer, my savior, and at that moment the most beautiful person that ever lived. "Is it really you?" 

She had done it. Together, we would walk out through the portal, back into the world of the living. Every thought about atonement, every idea of revenge, left me in a blink. To think that I once again would see a sun, a moon, feel the skin of another against myself, was so strong that it consumed everything else.   
She caught me as I nearly slumped to my knees, her arms stronger than I remembered. She let out a peal of laughter, sounding like a brook winding down the thick and green and living wilderness.   
My feet steadied themselves, my tears since long gone from my cheeks, and I held her against me. Or she held me against her.   
We held each other, and it was wonderful. I was no longer alone.   
She cupped my cheeks, her eyes soft and crinkled at the edges as she gazed into my very soul. 

"My child," she said, her voice merely a whisper. "After all this time, I meet the real you. Every night in my dreams, I spoke to you, even though I knew that it was the Fade that created what I so dearly wished."

I relished the sensation her hands brought to my skin. I was burning more than Andraste herself, my hibernating body sprouting back to life.   
"You did it," I said, leaning into her hands. "I knew I could trust you, Wynne. I knew it. Oh, how I have missed you."  
She didn't answer. Her soft, crinkling eyes averted from mine, seeking the Spirit's. The air shifted, the mist no longer held back by the Spirit's golden light. It crept back upon us, swirling around our knees. My heart dropped as I stared at her. I knew that look so well, the concerned wrinkle between her brows. Too well, even. Wynne was not nearly as good as Leliana in hiding her emotions and thoughts.  
I withered like a flower. At first, one petal at a time fell. Then they all fell at once. Dried, scattered petals that only waited to be crushed beneath heavy footfalls and turned into dust. 

"She did not succeed," the Spirit said, her voice vibrating in tune with the Fade. "She is merely passing by."  
Wynne smiled a little, a pale smile that told me that she also knew all of my expressions. I wondered what she saw on my face. "I lived longer than I ever anticipated."

"You are…" I could not believe it. Dubious sensations filled me, and I took a step back, once again feeling the soothing sensation of stone against me. "You are dead?" I asked, incredulous. 

"I am," Wynne said, gently curling her fingers around my arms. "I met my son, and I was, for the first time in my life, given time of true happiness. But all good things must end," she continued. 

I nearly winced as her sincere words stung my very core. Maybe it was selfish, but had she not known some kind of happiness with us while we rallied against the Blight? Was I really that matterless -- or motherless? With Mother and Nan gone, I had considered her as some kind of mother. Maybe she did the same to me, pretending I was the child that was taken of her.  
If so, it was not jealousy but envy I felt. Because the Maker knew how much I would do to meet Mother and Nan again.  
But not until my faults been corrected, I reminded myself.  
I decided it was best not to show what whirled across my mind. Wynne's pale, knowing smile, however, did not fade, so I was unsure if I made it.

"What happened?" I asked, even though I suspected I did not want to know what ended her life.   
"She can not say," the Spirit said. Thank the Maker for Spirits. "The flame is flickering, and she must continue her journey. She is not supposed to be here."  
"My son is still trying to find a way," Wynne said, her form slowly dissolving. "Do not lose hope."  
"But --." I reached out my hands to her, trying to make her stay. I did not want to see her go. I did not want to be alone again. A shiver went down my spine as I realized she no longer was physical, the movements from my hands making her body swirl like the mist.   
"It has been nine years since the Blight," Wynne said, only her eyeballs still left of her face. The rest of her had passed on. Her voice was now more of a feeling rather than a sound. "To see you again --"

I never learned what more she had to say. With that, as swiftly as she had shown up, she was gone, and with her, also my last hope. She had passed on. I could not tear my eyes away from where she had stood. If it were not for the lingering Spirit, who mocked me with her golden beauty, I would have believed I'd gone mad and imagined it.

If not Wynne could save me, why would her son?

In the distance, a demon roared angrily. If it were not for the burning sensation of hate that flared in me, I would have sprinted into its hands, putting my head between its fangs, waiting for my skull to crack. But I stilled my restless legs. I needed to trust that her son would bring me back, because there was no other way for me to do what I must. 

"Have faith," the Spirit told me. I laughed bitterly and dropped down by my rock, waving the form of blinding light away, afraid of poisoning its goodness with my looming darkness. Yes. My lungs filled with a deep, unnecessary and completely empty breath. If nine years had passed, I could surely wait.  
I could have waited for forever, because in the Fade, forever did not exist.   
My eyes were still glued at where she had stood. I wished that the Spirit never spoke to me about the Portal, I wished she never told me I was still, in some regard, alive.  
It was easier being dead.


	3. Chapter 3

I learned the name of Wynne’s son first after the Spirit told me that he, too, had entered the realm of the dead.

Rhys. I tasted his name, and decided that I liked it. He had, after all, tried to save me. It was not his fault he failed, and I prayed he knew it.

I wondered if he embraced Wynne as they reunited in death. I hoped he did because there was nothing else left for me to wish for.

The finality of it all smacked me in the face.

To know that I never was to repair the damage I allowed to happen was numbing. Once again, I contemplated killing myself, but that seemed a fate I did not deserve. What if I met Duncan on the other side? Or even worse, my parents? My House’s motto was, after all, ‘a Cousland always does their duty,’ and I was the sole exception. A disgrace. 

And Maker, I dared not meet their judgments. An archdemon, or a broodmother, or even Flemeth… Everything else I could handle, but not the disappointment in their eyes. In that regard, I admittingly was a coward. 

There was, however, some light in my gloomy limbo. And by light, I mean literal light. The ever shimmering Spirit of Faith often walked about with me, offering silent comfort. Maybe she, in her own way, missed Wynne as much as I did. 

In spite of her company, I repeatedly found my mind drifting off to the dragonling, wondering if it felt as lost and lonely as I did. On a few occasions, I believed I saw it amongst the fog, with its small wings flapping the mist around. It was probably just my mind playing tricks with me, though, because, after a blink of my eye, it was gone. And the mist kept on rolling as it had before, seemingly undisturbed. 

”Something is changing,” the Spirit told me during one of our mindless explorations. She sounded as worried as a Spirit could be. 

”Yes, I can feel it,” I said, looking around. It was true. The mist was picking up its speed, and the sickly green was ailing; its light darkened. The demons’ screeches were louder, more evoking, more irate. Oh, every fiber of my being could sense the change of the Fade’s vibration. The hairs on my neck prickled. The difference was electric, and my nostrils flared as I picked up a sharp smell. 

I forgot all the rest as I was close to shouting out with joy. A smell! It was not very pleasant, but if I were to believe Wynne, at least nine years had passed since I last picked up a scent. Odeur was like perfume.

The Fade, however, soon rumbled, and my joy quickly vanished. Even the demons silenced as rocks and debris fell from the sky. In pure reflex, I placed my arm over my head, trying to protect myself. My beating heart throbbed against my ribs despite its lack of oxygen. I realized that I was afraid; my hands were clammy and cold.

The Spirit gave me a sidelong glance, and in shame, I brought down my arm. As always, she was protecting me. Why, I wondered, when I was so unworthy?

But I did not bring myself to ask that. Instead, I asked her, “What do you think is happening?” My voice was as leveled I managed.

Her strides kept on, not caring about the debris around us, and I did my best to mimic her calmness as I sidled up to her.

“Change.”

I rolled my eyes. “You already said that.”

The Spirit stopped dead in her tracks, turning to me. “Heed my words, child,” she said, not unkindly. Nevertheless, I shivered. Every time she called me that, ‘child’, I was remembered of Wynne. Even their voices sounded alike, and it was difficult telling them apart. She put her glowing hand to my chest. “You are not supposed to be here.”

I grimaced. “That I am well aware of.”

“I was not finished.” She was quiet after that, making me believe she this time was finished. I was just about to keep walking when she continued, halting my steps. “You are not a creature of the Fade, but you need to listen. Not with your ears, but your soul.”

“My ears are fine,” I said. I felt like an obstinate adolescent again, and my grimace deepened. “I can both hear and see that something here is wrong.” I gestured pointedly at the debris that still fell around us. 

“Try,” the Spirit urged, her hand still pressed against my chest. “Concentrate on my touch and close your eyes.”

I did, albeit reluctantly. With a foot tapping the ground, I shut my eyes. Her hand was nothing but a weight pressing against me, and the golden light shone through my lids. 

But soon, I sensed it. My foot stopped tapping. Faint electric pulses, each carrying a whisper. Muscles on my chest constricted, and I winced.

“Concentrate,” she repeated. 

I did. 

I felt how my memories slowly trickled away from me, giving room for something entirely else. The pulses increased in intensity, and their color was green. Green as the jungles of Par Vollen, green as the undergrowth of the Korcari Wilds, and green as the groves Delilah and I once ran through. But they all sunk together; all I saw was a rich green devoid attachments, and I knew nothing else but it.

Amid the green, a mist rolled in. It was carrying the green of the Fade, the same hue as bile and phlegm and insects’ blood. It erased everything else, and I gasped.

She drew back her hand from me, and my eyes shot open. 

“Do you understand now?” she asked me.

I turned away my gaze. I could no longer look at her blinding light, because I feared the day when she would no longer be there.

“You and your likes might be dying,” I said, slowly. “And the Fade is corrupting… Thedas?”

She smiled faintly. “Almost.” She put a hand against my shoulder. “It is the Fade that is being corrupted, and its miasma is leaking out into the world of mortals.”

The Fade had stopped rumbling, and in the distance, the demons’ wails rose again. Its familiarity was soothing. 

“If it will not be stopped,” I asked, carefully, “what will happen then?”

She looked at me, still holding onto her small smile. “Change,” she said again.

This time I did not roll my eyes. 

*

I felt them before I heard them. The Fade’s vibration changed, and when I looked to the Spirit, she was gone. Jumping up to my feet, I lay my palm against my rock, closing my eyes. I listened to the pulses the way the Spirit had taught me.

As if I had been electrocuted, I pulled back my hand swiftly. I rubbed my palms against each other. 

“Spirits of flesh,” I whispered out loud, my eyes scanning the foggy paths. Where were they?

“... just how are you planning to get us out?” a deep, male voice complained. I stiffened. They were already close; I could hear their footfalls. 

“I am not sure yet,” a woman responded. She sounded irritated, and Maker, how I understood her. “If we got in here, we should be able to get out as well.”

“We ‘should?” The dubiousness was evident in the other woman’s voice. “Hawke, don’t you have a plan?”

A peal of laughter. Maker, _laughter,_ in this forsaken place _._ I was unable to move; only my eyes darted between the different paths. Were I to run to them or from them?

“‘Bela,” I assumed the woman by the name Hawke replied, “This time, I think it is better if we listen to her.”

“And stay quiet,” yet another woman said, her voice thick with the Nevarran accent. “Let the Herald focus.”

“Thank you.” It was the first woman's voice again. 

I pressed my back against the rock as I finally could make out their forms in the mists. I squinted my eyes, equally as terrified as I was, damn it, hopeful. 

The hopefulness rooted in me, and it grounded me to where I was standing. 

“Wha--” 

I knew the sound of metal leaving their scabbards better than anything else. They had seen me as well, and their weapons were aimed at me.

What a wonderful sight it was… For a short while.

“Wait!” I called out as I realized they were charging against me. “I am not a demon!”

They paused, mumbling to each other.

Then one voice grew louder. “That sounds like something a demon would say.”

I gritted my teeth. It did, didn’t it?

One of them took a step towards me, and I was practically one with the rock by then. When we lay eyes on each other, both our jaws dropped. We both were clad in the Order’s blue-and-white armor, our engraved griffons staring at each other. 

“Warden?” I said, my voice slightly quivering. “Tell me your name and rank.”

“Jean-Marc Stroud,” he said warily. I wondered what he thought about when he observed me, cowering into my rock rather than next to it. “Senior Warden.” He took a taunting step towards me. “Are you from… Adamant?”

I had no time to reply before the others stepped out of the fog, their weapons still in their hands. My gaze did not leave the shining blades. Maybe I should have fled when I still had a chance.

“No way.” Another laughter. “Is it really you, cheater?”

Cheater? I rose my eyes from the sharp metal and landed on soft, brown Rivaini skin. I should have known.

“Isabela?” I struggled to speak. My voice was now harsh and dry. 

A woman with black, braided hair circling her head sent Isabela a glance. “Who is this, pirate? You know her?” Ah, so that was the Nevarran. 

“Of course, Seeker,” Isabela said, and I recognized the mischievousness in her voice. “As should you.”

Isabela then grinned and swaggered up to me, ignoring the warning glares she was received. I swallowed. Her hips were swaying seductively, almost blanking my hungry mind. But the Grey Warden in me quickly reminded me of what had happened the last time I let swaying hips be my guide, and I spotted the glinting dagger in her sleeve right before she lunged at me. I ducked and swiftly clutched my pale fingers around her sun-kissed wrist. I locked her arm behind her back. Beads of sweat formed on my brow as I heard the rustle behind me.

“I mean no harm!” I said, and just as Isabela lost the grip of the dagger, I let go of her. I pressed myself back against my rock. “Please.” My voice was not more than a whimper. I must have looked pathetic, and at that moment, I was.

Isabela spun about gracefully and grasped the arm of one of the women who was storming at me. Her eyes were seething, but she stilled immediately from Isabela’s touch. 

“Hawke,” Isabela said, her voice softer than I ever before had heard her use. “It’s all right.”

“Stop fooling around,” the Seeker interrupted harshly, “and tell us who this is.”

“This,” Isabela said and retrieved her dagger from the ground, her smile triumphant, “is one of the few who has ever won over me in Wicked Grace. This is Warden-Commander Elissa Cousland, Hero of Ferelden.”


	4. Chapter 4

"The Hero of Ferelden?" Hawke shook her head, her stance completely changed. She smiled at me, and with a last, confirming look from Isabela, she let her sword slid back down her scabbard. The sickly green light of the fade glistened on the red steel. The blade was beautiful without my blood on it. "How come everyone I surround myself with outrank me?" A beat. "My name's Hawke," she added, now nodding to me.

"She is the Champion of Kirkwall," Isabela said with a smirk on her face. 

I found that I stared at them. For what I knew, Kirkwall had not had a champion in a long time. Knowing Isabela, she probably jested with me, but I could not be sure. "I am pleased to meet you," I stammered, diplomatic as ever. Father and Mother would at least have been proud of me over this; my manners were not all gone. How I was to remember all their names, though, was an entirely different question. My mind was swirling with impressions. 

"The Hero of the Fifth Blight?" The woman, whom I still didn't know who it was, said with a countenance adorned with both surprise and awe. It was a long time since anyone looked at me like that, and I was not sure if I liked it. And, more importantly, when had I been named Hero of Ferelden? That was quite a feat, even though I suspect killing a god made me worthy of that recognition. I was all right with that. "How did you end up... _here_?"

My mouth parched. She asked me a question I was unsure of how to answer. What was I to say? That my unworthy soul was denied entry to the Maker's side because my Witch of the Wilds-lover assumingly procreated with the King of Ferelden, leading to my soul splitting and that their off-spring, somehow, lent the archdemon a corporeal vessel? That was, indeed, a tough one. Thank you, Morrigan. 

"I… am not entirely sure," I said, crossing my fingers that my answer was enough.

She smiled wanly and brought out a hand to me.

I stared at it for a short moment, incredulous, before I remembered it was a greeting. Feeling irrationally proud of myself, I grasped it. My manners were indeed intact. I inwardly patted myself on my shoulder. Mother and the governesses had not spent all that time teaching me for naught.

"I am Evelyn Trevelyan," she presented herself. Her grip was firm, and her skin radiated living warmth against my scarred, calloused palm. That was how I imagined the Maker's side to be -- this warmth, this closeness with another being. To never again feel alone. My heart picked up its speed, but not from fear. "And I am not entirely sure of how we got here either."

"She is also the Herald and the Inquisitor," the Seeker added. I did not understand why she was called 'Herald', but the Inquisitor I knew well. What in all of Thedas could have happened for a new inquisition to begin? 

"And this is Cassandra Pentaghast," Evelyn said with an eye-roll towards the Nevarran, "who never tires of reminding me." 

"I recognize your Houses," I said and silently thanked my mother and my poor governesses once again. But… I observed them before saying anything further. Did they want me to call them by their titles? They had not introduced themselves with them.

That mannerly thought, however, left me as soon as Evelyn rose her left hand, and I saw that it glimmered green. 

Yes, I said it. Her _hand_ \-- her very skin -- glimmered green. 

My back was yet again jammed against the rock. 

"This," Evelyn continued, entirely indifferent to my reaction, "is what made me the Inquisitor, and probably also what got us in here."

"We were falling," Isabela said, trying to clarify the events for me. It was not clarifying.

"It is a mess out there," Hawke continued, also failing to clarify the foregoing happenings. "Even though I would very much prefer that mess to this mess." 

Well, Hawke, that, however, I wholly understand. 

"What… is that?" I asked, my eyes glued at Evelyn's green hand, my voice not more than a whisper.

Evelyn shrugged her shoulders. "It can shut portals to the Fade," she said. "And, apparently, open them. We are not sure how, though." Cassandra cleared her throat, warning Evelyn not to reveal too much. After all, to them, it was still not entirely improbable that I was a demon. 

I stood silent, studying her. Portals. So that was how the Fade was leaking. My body wrecked as I then began to roar with laughter. 

"So, I have been able to get out?" I said out loud, dabbing my tears with the back of my hand. My stomach ached as it convulsed with laughter. The Spirit surely heard me, wherever she hid. She could have gotten me out of the Fade. Why had she not? "Since then?"

"Uh… A few months," Evelyn said, hesitating. She shared a look with the others, wondering if I was mad. Oh, I knew that look, and for once, I also knew the answer. "But I am not certain you would have been able to get out," Evelyn continued. "The demons --"

I did not pick up the rest of the words. They were drowned in my hysterical laughter.

*

For the first time since I came to the Fade, I was not wandering aimlessly. They had a purpose that matched perfectly with mine. 

We all wanted to leave this wretched place. 

It was Stroud who took the time to explain all that had happened before they, as Isabela so eloquently put it, 'fell'. To think that I once (would have) died in the name of the Order of the Grey, now diminished to something entirely shameful, was hard to fathom. At the same time, I understood the panicked wardens.

Riordan's condition worsened rapidly in the month before the Battle of Denerim. The Calling, together with his knowledge of his approaching death, took its toll on him. One night, while we still prepared Denerim for the battle, he knocked on my door, knowing I was not asleep.

It is difficult to describe Riordan's relationship with me. It was he who told me and Alistair everything we needed to know about the Order - _he_ was the experienced one. Yet, stoic, loyal and dutiful as he was, he sought me who was naught more than an almost self-appointed Warden-Commander. He confided in me, that night, about the Calling. About its whispers and its hums. How it sang to him, sometimes like a lullaby, and sometimes like something completely else. He said that he heard the archdemon's roars and the darkspawns' hisses. The man I spoke with was a broken man, a broken man willing to fulfill his duty. 

Because if not, he would die by himself in the Deep Roads. And while we Wardens do that without protests, bound by tradition and honor, we all would rather die out on the battlefield. One might never hear us say that out loud, but it is the truth.

However, that was why I could understand the panic that affected the Order. If the Calling, feigned or not, was able to break Riordan, any man could be broken by it. Stroud seemed to get that as well, even though he did not say it. I think no one but a Grey Warden could be able to understand the fate that waited for us. 

Stroud's and mine conversation ended abruptly when Evelyn decided they ought to take a rest. My head swirled in her direction.

"Rest?" I wondered, but then I lay eyes on her chest. It heaved, steadily, beneath her chest plate. A quick look confirmed then that they all were breathing the air I thought to be empty. It had eluded my conscious mind that they regularly had been sipping their waterskins and bottles. Maybe we were not the same after all.

When they collapsed on the ground, weary and tired, I imitated them. But all I could think of was how much I began to miss my rock. Did I really want to leave the Fade, leave the Spirit? I glanced at the new group I traveled with. Evelyn and Cassandra sat next to each other, discussing their alternatives and plans. Stroud placed himself some distance away, scribbling in his journal. His Warden Bottle stood next to him, and I wondered what he had let have engraved in it. I myself had never had a Warden Bottle, and that was often something I jested with Alistair about, how I was not a real Warden. I neglected to mention to Alistair that it was because all our brothers and sisters in the Order had died before making me one. He knew, anyway. 

My gaze continued to Hawke and Isabela. Hawke's eyes were now far from seething; they were soft as wool. She cradled Isabela's head in her lap, and Isabela played with a lock of Hawke's black hair, and I swiftly averted my eyes as if I had been intruding on something private and intimate. 

Nevertheless, my stomach writhed at the sight of them. While Morrigan and I had never been affectionate in front of others, she had been close to me when no one saw. I doubt anyone of my companions back then understood that. They did not see the times Morrigan clutched my hand in hers, the times she put ointments on my wounds, the kisses she gave my bruises. These memories led me to think; was revenge and restoration of order what I really wanted? Did I want to see her punished -- maybe even executed, for the crimes she committed?

I began to doubt that. I just wanted to go back to my rock and pretend I was dead. I had, after all, been getting quite skilled at it. 

"How are you?" Evelyn asked me after a while. I looked up from the pebble I had been staring at. Somehow, she successfully had crept up to me without me noticing. A concerned wrinkle adorned her brow. Behind her, I saw that the rest of them had dozed off. 

"Fine, thank you," I said. What else was I to say? After my laughing fit earlier, it would be pretty obvious that I had a nervous breakdown. But nervous breakdown or not - I did not forget my manners. "And you?" I asked back. 

She gave her glowing hand a pointing look, grimacing. "It is all right, but it flares up sometimes. I won't complain." Evelyn sent me a smile. It did not reach her eyes.

"Oh, please do," I said, meaning every word. "Someone who carries the world on her shoulders should complain."

She chuckled lightly, but it quickly faded. 

"We should continue," I said after a moment's awkward silence. "This is a timeless place. Maker knows for how long you already have been here."

"But to what use?" she whispered. "What if I can not find a way out? What if I have condemned these people?"

"You saved our lives," Cassandra said, startling us both. Apparently, she was not asleep. Or she was just a light sleeper. Many warriors were, myself included. Morrigan had been annoyed by that, mostly. I hated that she always entered my thoughts. "Don't worry, Evie. We will get out of here, one way or another."

Evelyn's eyes misted, and she nodded. Maybe she did not trust herself to speak. Cassandra seemed to understand, sending Evelyn a wan smile. The scar on her jaw curled from it. 

"Get up!" Cassandra then thundered. Stroud flew up to his feet, Hawke's eyes snapped open while Isabela only groaned, displeased of being disturbed. "Now, Isabela," Cassandra added in a mutter. 

"Oh," Isabela said drowsily as she stirred back to life. "So you finally admit we are on first-name basis?"

"Ugh." Cassandra shook her head, but I believe I saw the edges of her lips twitching. 

Isabela looked to Hawke, eyes twinkling. "You heard it, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Hawke said, putting her hands in the air. "I heard nothing."

"Liar." Isabela smiled, smacking Hawke's shoulder. 

"Ow." Hawke massaged her shoulder, her lips widened in a grin. "I think a mosquito just bit me!"

Evelyn sighed, the tears in her eyes blinked away. "We should move on," she said. "It is a slaughter out there, and as long we are trapped in here..." 

Hawke's wide smile disappeared in a whim, and she nodded gravely. She got up to her feet and proffered Isabela a hand, while Stroud fastened his bottle by his belt. 

"We are good to go," Isabela said as soon she stood up and saluted to Evelyn, "Herald."

"Do not call me that," Evelyn said. Isabela shrugged, and then we, yet again, walked.


	5. Chapter 5

There are many things in my life I do not know how to explain or why they occurred. I never got to know the reason why Howe killed my parents, or why Loghain smiled kindly to me before I swung my sword against his neck. The memory of his execution made me shiver. It took me two swings to shatter his spine, and when his head rolled away on the blood-pooled floor, the smile still lingered. 

I am not innocent, and I have never claimed to be. As I earlier stated, the Maker knows all my sins. I have been fueled by hate and vengeance since the night I found my lover, my nephew, and my niece murdered in cold blood. The same night my parents were slaughtered.

Since the moment my whole life -- as I knew it -- disappeared beneath my feet. 

The sole reason I managed to unite the mages, templars, Dalish elves, and the dwarves with the citizens of Ferelden was, in all honesty, mostly because of my companions. And, of course, all of the five groups’ common goal -- to finish the Blight so we could keep on detesting each other. 

Alistair and I, my brother by the ichor in our blood, came to grow apart during our journey. He did not approve of my ways, even though he must have known that Duncan would have made the same decisions as I. Everything I did was for the sake of our cause, or so I told myself.

Never will the memory of the wounded look in his eyes when I decided to save Branka and her golems decrease. ‘You are not the same as you once were,’ he said to me when we at long last hobbled back to Tapster’s Tavern with Bhelen’s forged crown in our sore hands. 

At the time, I grew furious, screaming to him that he did not know me. In hindsight, I think he was the only one who saw me for what I was. A snake. Because it was a snake my mother and my governesses taught me to be.

It was that shameful moment, when I yelled at him so ferociously that spit flew out of my mouth, I thought of when I stared at the Spirit in front of me. For a fleeting moment, her gaze locked with mine, and she too saw me for what I was. She was clad in gilded robes and holding a gaze so steady and without judgment that she could be naught but an ethereal being. I did therefore not become surprised when Cassandra fell down on her knees before her.

“Most Holy,” Cassandra said with a quivering voice, her neck bowed deep. “Forgive me. I failed you.” Tears streamed down her nose and dropped to the ground, piercing through the knee-high mist. It reminded me of when the rain collided with the grey waters of the Storm Coast, and I imagined that I sensed the smell of salt. Next to her, Evelyn kneeled. While I could not see her face, I saw a muscle twitch in her bared neck and how her legs trembled. I wanted to tell her to dare to look into the Spirit’s eyes, because then she would have known not to feel fear. 

“Rise,” Divine Justinia the Fifth said and gestured to them. Her lips moved when she spoke her articulated words; she was not the same as the Spirit of Faith. She was, at the same time, not like me, either. It was with dread and a squirming gut I realized that I was something in between the Divine and my new companions. A Spirit of Flesh, whatever that meant.

“No, Cassandra,” Justinia continued, her voice as warm and grounded as her eyes. “You never failed me. What happened to me was out of your reach.” She turned her gaze to Evelyn. “Neither did you, child.”

I listened intensly as Justinia explained what I learned Evelyn could not remember. Even Isabela seemed transfixed by the unbelievable story. It was first when they began to speak of Corypheus’ dragon I felt the need to intervene. The hairs on my nape rose as I relived my last true breath. For what I thought to be a short moment, all I could see was flames and black scales.

“An archdemon?” I asked, my mouth dry. I felt their eyes turn to me, and I wondered what they saw. A pale ghost, or a silvery hero?

“Yes,” Evelyn said, her voice more robust than before, now when she had learned the truth. She was not the Herald, and neither was she the Divine’s murderess. The adamant will to slay the evil forces that had claimed Justinia’s life burned in her eyes. “An archdemon. We need the Wardens’ aid to kill it.”

“Now when Clarel and probably most of our Orlesian kin are dead,” Stroud said solemnly to me, not noticing my wince, “we are not many left that can.”

While I had never met Warden-Commander Clarel, Duncan and Riordan both had spoken highly of her. She had wished to aid us during the Fifth Blight, but she and the rest of the Orlesian Order were not permitted to enter Ferelden. And by the time they finally were, it was too late. 

“We have you two,” Hawke said. She winked to me. “One expert at that.” 

Ugh. A reprise of _that_ was most untempting. I realized that I had put my clenched hand against my midriff, and quickly lowered it. A pale ghost I was, then. A hero did not clutch at her stomach.

“And those who are left of the Fereldan Order,” Cassandra added, sending Hawke an acidic glare. She must have spotted my distress. 

Hawke smiled apologetically, and it was first then I grasped that Hawke had jested with me. “My sister is a Grey Warden,” she said, a bit quieter. By the way Isabela let their hands brush, I could tell there was a story behind her sister’s joining. But then again, it often was. Being a Warden was either a honor or a punishment, but all had their reasons to join. As had I, though it was not my choice. “She will do everything she can to help.”

A screech called out in the distance, and our eyes turned in the sound’s direction. Demons. I was used to them by now, and my reaction was more because of their sudden head-turning than anything else, I could tell by their alertness that the far-away sound unconsciously made them prepare for battle. 

Evelyn tore her focus away from the Demon. She took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax some, and turned to Justinia, who watched us solemnly. “I remember it all now, thanks to you.”

“I only told you what your heart already knew,” Justinia said, with a sad smile on her lips. “There is a Portal not far away from here where you can leave, but be careful. The Nightmare guards it.” 

Evelyn bowed her head. Justinia moved her gaze from Evelyn to Cassandra, giving her Right Hand a long look before stepping towards her. Justinia slowly extended her wrinkled hand and cupped Cassandra’s scarred cheek, and by the way Cassandra serenely closed her eyes, I saw that she felt what I had with both Wynne and the Spirit. Conflicting feelings; heavenly bliss and a hollowing sense of abandonment, all at once. 

The Divine was, just as Wynne, only lingering in the Fade, not trapped as I was. But now, when her purpose was fulfilled, her light was flickering. She was dissolving into the golden light I knew so well. I hoped she would find peace by the Maker’s side. 

“Dear Cassandra,” she said so softly that I hardly could hear her words. “Never forget what I told you.”

“Never, Most Holy,” Cassandra whispered, leaning into her palm the way I had with Wynne. My savior, my healer. Maybe the Divine was to her what Wynne was to me. 

“And tell Leliana the same,” Justinia added. The hand she held against Cassandra’s cheek was now not more than mist. 

Leliana? My heart leaped to my throat. While it was not an uncommon name, it made my head spin. Was it… Could it…?

The Divine glanced at me. Our eyes met briefly, and I trembled. This time, her eyes held a glimmering warning. Yes - she had not only seen me for what I was, but probably heard of what I had done. I suppressed the urge to run up to Cassandra, Isabela, and Evelyn to shake them by their collar, asking why they did not tell me that they knew Leliana.

But of course -- they had been busy trying to find a way to get out of the Fade. Or… My stomach turned inside out with guilt. Or they knew what I did to her, the night before the Battle of Denerim, when I understood that Morrigan had not planned to come back to me. When I used Leliana the way others had.

Sweat trickled down my neck. I never had time to apologize...

“Hey.” It was Isabela who had walked up to me. I relaxed when I found that her tone, for once, did not hold a hint of mirth. “Are you all right?”

The Divine had vanished from our sight, and Cassandra, albeit a bit taken, was already speaking with Evelyn and the rest of the group, pointing in the direction Justinia had told us to go. It was an odd feeling to be left outside when I once had been the leader. 

“Yes, yes,” I said, but I was sure my visage told her the opposite. She was kind enough to let it pass. The Isabela I once knew had changed. Not much, but still. Most did. 

“I’m sorry for what I did before,” she said airily. “When we first saw you. I just had to make sure you wasn’t a demon, you know.”

I smiled faintly, trying to push the memory of Leliana’s broken voice away. “I understand. Did the move you taught me convince you?” 

She chuckled lightly, pointedly massaging her wrist. “Mmh. One could say that.”

“Are you coming?” Hawke asked as she and the others broke their circle, beckoning us to come up to them. “We should get going.”

“Yeah,” Isabela said, sending me a quick look. I gave her a short nod, and we met up with them. Anxiety and anticipation swirled in my gut as we in dense silence let our feet bring us closer to the Portal. Glimpsing behind, I saw the rock formation that stood clear against the sickly green. The boulder that had been my safe haven.

Clenching my jaw, I fixed my eyes ahead. This was not the time for memories or second thoughts. I owed Thedas a favor, and I surely did not want my death to be a fruitless sacrifice. Morrigan had left when I needed her the most, and while I would have forgiven her for that, I could not forgive her for the rest.

A taunting voice boomed through the air, making my ears ring. The Nightmare demon. My muscles tensed. 

“Fuck!” Hawke let out, jittering as small spiders leaped in masses by our feet. She unsheathed her sword and clutched it desperately. 

“It’s only spiders. They aren’t doing anything,” Isabela said, her lips curved into a knowing half-smile. Somehow, it made me feel better that the alleged ‘Champion of Kirkwall’ had her troubles, just as I had mine. Like Nan, rats and mice were my biggest weakness, although I could understand Hawke’s aversion to spiders. I had fought some larger than mabaris, and it was most unnerving. The sounds from their jointed legs as they clapped against the ground…

No, still not as bad as rats and mice. I had, after all, on one occasion turned into one. 

“It is not them,” Evelyn said, slowly. Her hands trembled as she sought the hilt of her sword. “But the demon.”

Isabela quirked a brow to Evelyn, but followed her gaze. I did the same, and we both gasped as we sighted it. The massive, eight-legged creature lurked in the thick mists, first unnoticeable to the eye. But after I saw it, it could not be unseen. No matter how much I wished it to be.

By its side, the Portal stood. Shimmering, it whispered to us promises of freedom from this place. 

“We need to clear a path,” Stroud said, his upper lip twitching. The moustache jolted with its movements. “I’ll do it,” he added without hesitation. He looked at me, and in him, I saw a piece of my former self. This was what a true Grey Warden was -- honorable, loyal, and dutiful. Not like what Clarel and her underlings let themselves become. Not what I had allowed myself to become.

Hawke, who now was in control of her muscles, shook her head firmly. “No, my friend,” she said. “The Orlesian Order needs you to help them rebuild, now when Clarel is gone. And Beth would never forgive me for taking you away from her.”

Isabela shot forward to Hawke, grasping her arms. Her brown eyes were wild and wide with fear. “How dare you?” she wheezed. Her voice quivered as Hawke just gazed back at her, her eyes soft and gentle. “Beth can’t lose you. Varric can’t lose you. I.. _I_ can’t lose you,” Isabela continued, her voice cracking. “Not yet. Don’t do this to me, Marian.”

Hawke rose her gauntleted hand and let her knuckles brush Isabela’s cheek. “This is not for you to decide, my love.”

At those words, Isabela’s eyes immediately darted to Evelyn. They were burning with intense desperation -- this was the pirate I recognized. She jutted a finger at Evelyn. “No. No. Why don’t you --”

Cassandra took a threatening step toward Isabela, her shoulders squared. “She is the Inquisitor,” she growled, her fingers hanging over her scabbard. “And the only one who can stop Corypheus.”

” Cass,” Evelyn said sharply,” please, let me speak for myself.” Cassandra stepped back, but Isabela’s attention was already elsewhere.

Hawke had gently placed her hand on Isabela’s shoulder, turning her back around, so they faced each other. “I failed killing him back then,” Hawke continued, her words meant for Isabela only. “I’m no longer needed. I have not been for years.”

“But you are,” Isabela said quietly.

I could not stand witnessing that. While I earlier had seen myself and Morrigan in the way Hawke and Isabela interacted with each other, this was a thing Morrigan had never done. I beheld unconditional, selfless love. Who was I to break what they had? 

Neither could I let Stroud, my inferior, do this. In my mind and heart, I still was a Commander. And a Commander does not sacrifice the lives of those under their protection.

I gave the rock behind me another glance. I told myself that the decision that was forming in my mind was relieving. I needed to choose between ignominy or an honorable death, and I thought to myself, that maybe I wasn' even able to slay Urthemiel. This way, while Urthemiel’s soul was free out there in the world of men, I still died with honor. I would be able to look at Duncan and my parents, saying that I did my best. And more importantly, I did not have to meet Morrigan and her abomination. Neither did I did have to beg Leliana for forgiveness. 

“Hand me your sword, Warden Stroud,” I said as I walked up to him with a confidence I did not possess. I almost snatched the blade from his hands, eager to be done with it before cowardice got the upper hand. “I have already been dead for years.”

“I refuse,” Stroud said, his brows shot up in surprise. “You are the Hero--”

“Do not defy me,” I said, trying to remember the commanding tone that once so easily came to me. “I am no hero, and I know next to nothing about the conflicts out there. Therefore, I can not take your place. We all know it.” No one protested. What I said was the truth, but it was still good that the first thing a Grey Warden was taught was not to expect any praise. I lowered my voice, making sure that only he heard. “I have one thing to ask of you.”

“Anything,” Stroud said sincerely. 

“There is a sorceress out there whom I traveled with during the Blight. Morrigan. I need you to find her off-spring and slay it.”

For a short moment, I thought of adding that this needed to be our secret, but it was unnecessary. He knew better -- almost everything regarding the Order was a secret. 

He gave me a brief salute, and inwardly I thanked him for it. This was, finally, a decent death. I ignored the adrenaline pumping in my veins, making my heart thud against my ribs. Wordlessly, he handed me his sword, and I weighed it in my hands.

When I rose my head to look at my companions, they already gazed upon me. The gratefulness I saw in Isabela’s and Hawke’s eyes told me I made the right choice. “Do not tell anyone you met me,” I said, my fingers familiarly grasping the hilt of the sword. 

“They would not have believed us anyway,” Evelyn said. She then took a step toward me, clasping my free hand in hers. “But I am glad we did.”

“I should not let you do this,” Hawke said, her jaw clenched. 

My lips were forced into a small smile. “I offered myself.” I pointed my chin to the Portal. “Just make sure to get out of here, and save the world. Again.”

“Yes, Commander,” Stroud said. 

Their chests heaved as their gazes turned to the Portal. I took a step forward, as if testing my legs. Swallowing, I looked to Cassandra. Wordlessly, she looked back at me. The Demon let out another screech, and the moment appeared. This was it. She gave me a parting nod, and I hoisted my sword.

With a motionless chest and sweat trailing down my skin, I began to sprint up to the creature that towered over me. Blood pumped in my ears, and I heard my mother’s soft laughter. I was close to chuckling with joy; my family was waiting for me.

“In death,” I whispered as the Demon’s eight eyes fixed at me, “sacrifice.”

I lifted my blade anew, roaring, and saw the rest of the group sneak up to the Portal. One by one, they jumped to freedom. Only Evelyn lingered, staring helplessly at me. Her hand glowed green, flaring.

“Go!” I screamed from the bottom of my lungs. My blade tore through the crisp exoskeleton, the Demon’s wails deafening. The creature's pedipalps reached for me, knocking me, making me lose my footing. Pain jolted down my spine as the back of my head smashed into the ground. Beautiful colors danced before my eyes as Evelyn disappeared through the Portal. 

After closing my lids, I allowed myself to smile. The Demon’s crunching movements were my Calling, and I could not wait to let it break me.


	6. Chapter 6

My treacherous heart continued to beat, steady as a believable lie. My body wracked in a relieved sob. 

No matter what I told myself, I wanted to live. Not because it necessary was something I deserved, but the most primal, instinctual parts of me still functioned. Even though I was stuck in the limbo between life and death, my organs wanted to continue being a living apparatus. 

I did not need to open my eyes to know what had delayed my final moment. The Fade’s shrieking vibrations had gone still as a windless morning, and there was only one I knew who was able to do that. Her presence reminded me of the warming sun in Bloomingtide, and my heart slowed its pace. No, I was not going to die. The comprehension of that statement made my stomach swirl. I was not going to die! I was going to live!

“Child,” The Spirit of Faith said, her heavenly voice music to my ears. “If you want to leave, do so swiftly.” I pried my lids open. The golden Spirit leaned over me, cradling the dragonling in her arms. It purred contently, unknowing of the danger that lurked only a few paces away. “For now, the Demon cannot harm us, but my energy is draining.” 

“Why?” I felt my face contort from the hurt of her betrayal. “Why did you not let me leave earlier?”

“I swore to Wynne to protect you,” she said, her voice now a gentle vibration in my chest. “By allowing your departure, I would have failed that promise.”

“How so?” I propped on my elbows and wiped the dust from my eyes. The dragonling ogled me brazenly, curiously, with its glinted eyes. Did it remember me?

“If you left without a healer waiting for you, you would have perished from your wounds.” She looked at me, her eyes inscrutable. “But this time,” she went on, “they are. I sense their connection to the Fade. My child, there are healers out there. This might be your last opportunity to leave, but it is entirely up to you.”  
I placed a hand against the ground, pushing myself up. I groaned as the back of my head began to hammer.   
“What is your decision?” she pressed on. I licked my lips, glancing at the Portal. It whispered to me of all things I thought I had lost. 

“I need to go,” I said. “But what about you two?” I reached out my hand to the dragonling, briefly petting its’ hard scales. Its purrs grew louder.

“Do not worry so,” the Spirit said, echoing the words Wynne once had told me. “It is you who matters.”

Slowly, I began to back towards the Portal. The Nightmare hissed angrily at me, and the Spirit’s light fluttered. She would not be able to hold the barrier for long. Her eyes followed me, and she sent me a learned, encouraging smile.   
The Portal next to me called out to me, and I let my eyes wander from the Spirit’s golden light to the Portal’s green promise. I felt my rock some distance behind me, crying over my departure. It sounded like Nan’s sobs and Delilah’s laughter. I hesitated.  
What had the world to offer me, a fallen Commander who did best in being remembered as a hero? I was probably nothing like the tales that were told about me; my bold bravery had vanished with my breathing.   
But then I reminded myself; I did not return for the sake of glory. I returned only to right my wrongs.   
The dragonling let out a scream behind me, and the vibration turned irregular. The golden light dissolved, and the dragonling’s wail with it. The Nightmare let out a triumphant roar, and as I heard it close in on me, I took the final step.  
I fell face-first on the dusty ground. The sound of my nose cracking sent an agog excitement through my being. With the help of my arms, I rose my head, my mouth agape. The warm, coppery blood tasted wonderful on my tongue. The sky was dark with threatening clouds, and around me lay the unseeing bodies of my disloyal brethren.   
I had forgotten about beauty. As I regarded the noiseless battleground, I wished I was a poet, because there was no way for me to describe what I experienced. 

“Commander?” It was Stroud who sounded most surprised to see me, and I felt my face widen with a smile. Why had I wished to die, when life was paradise? “Commander!” His voice had changed, and what I assumed was his strong hands clutched my shoulders. I heard the rustle of people hurrying up to me, and I have a vague memory of them rolling me around, their gasps filled with something I didn’t care to discern. I only looked up at the blackened sky; the ashen flakes spiraling through the wafting air, and the gathering tempest somewhere ahead, completely hypnotized. 

After their hands unclasped my armor’s many buckles and belts, they began to rip my clothes asunder. It was first about then I began to realize something was wrong. I pawed at my throat the same second my body started to convulse. It felt as my eyes were to pop out, my head explode, but panic still did not stab me as the veins on my neck swelled. I could not breathe, and it was on this side of the Veil essential. It was an out-of-body experience -- as if I was dreaming. How could this have happened to me? And how?   
A glimpse of a memory was seen behind the dancing colors, and I saw the archdemon's whipping tail crashing into me. Yes, how could I even for one second have forgotten?  
Reluctantly, I turned my eyes from the sky down my writhing body. Stroud was now holding at my uncontrollably kicking legs, as black blood poured out of my crushed chest, drowning me. I did not want to see. My eyes met with Evelyn’s, her eyes wide with startled fear. I let my gaze linger at her delicate face, ignoring everything else.   
I was so close, I thought, wanting to trace my hand down her cheek. So damn close.   
Then my mind went black as the sky.

*

Something rocked me, and if it had not been for the harsh movements, I would have thought I was a wee babe being rocked by my mother. Wet tears trailed down my cheeks. Why was I crying? I did not know, only that it was cathartic.   
“Hush,” a gentle woman’s voice said. “It is all right.” A warm palm was put against the cold sweat on my brow. Startled by the tender touch, I took a deep, shuddering breath. The pain from consciously filling my lungs blazed out to my fingertips. “Don’t strain yourself, Commander,” she said. “It took three of Thedas’ most renowned healers to patch you up.”

My eyes shot up at that, meeting eyes blue as Lake Calenhad a sunny day. They were mild, but a shadow of disapproval was hinted in them as I tried to speak. A painful croak escaped my sore throat, and she shook her head. Her black, unbound hair flowed down her shoulders. She was clad in the same colors of my armor, meaning she could be naught but a Grey Warden. Was this the sister Hawke had spoken of?   
Her eyes left mine as she brought up a vial. It snapped as she uncorked it, making me wince. She put a soft hand against the back of my head and brought the vial to my parched, stinging lips.

“Drink this,” she urged me, slightly raising my head. I separated my tight lips and obeyed, grimacing as the bitter taste filled my mouth. She slowly put my head back down.   
My eyelids grew heavy, and I felt something stir in me. I clutched her wrist, my grip weak.   
She put the vial down on the jolting planks beneath her, then covered my hand with hers. “I will be here when you wake up,” she said. “I won’t go anywhere.” Her good eyes made it impossible for me to distrust her. While she lowered my hand, she still held it tight. I closed my lids.

*

I jolted back to consciousness, perspiration wetting my nape. The ground was blissfully still, and I forced myself to sit up, surrounded by the darkness. I leaned my weary back against the planks of my confinement, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. I was alone; the woman was nowhere to be found. My stomach dropped with fear, my breaths became shallower. A creature of burden neighed outside. I considered my surroundings, combining the pieces together. I was in a carriage. Where was I taken?  
“How is the Warden-Commander doing?” I recognized the whispering voice as Hawke’s, and my fear eased some. I was not abandoned or left on my own; they were close by.  
“Improving,” the woman who had nursed me back to health said, “but her sleep's fitful.”   
“She was lucky.” That was Isabela’s familiar voice. “A few moments longer, and Evelyn would have closed it.”   
Assured I had not dreamt of my escape, I slid back down on my makeshift bed made from aromatic hay, relishing the brisk air. My warm, throbbing nose made me only feel more alive; the chest I barely noticed. I did not care where they were bringing me.  
I was only glad they did.

*

The next time I woke up, the carriage was moving. My stomach roared with thirst and hunger, but the thought of eating nauseated me. I shifted where I lay, and let out a groan.   
“There you are.” The woman smiled at me. “How are you feeling today?”  
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. 

  
“Wonderful,” she said, regarding me. “You seem more alert than before. Do you remember who I am?” I opened my mouth, but she did not wait for a reply. “I’m Warden Bethany Hawke, and I have taken care of you the last fortnight.” She looked out the heavy curtains, letting in a gust of wind. “It is good of you to wake up now, since we are almost at Skyhold.”

Merciless in a way I had not expected her to be, she opened up the curtains. The bright whiteness of the day blinded me, more so that the Spirit’s golden light. I shaded my aching eyes with my hands. I was just about to send her my deadliest glare when I spotted a majestic fort amongst the mountaintops. More awe-inspiring than Denerim Castle, more stoic than Castle Cousland, and much more frightening than Fort Drakon. Its sharp corners held a history I yet was not familiar with, and I wondered who had built this in the middle of no man's land.

“Evelyn wanted to be in here with you, but Cassandra thought it best to have her out among the men when we arrive.” I knitted my brows at Bethany’s statement. She saw my confusion and explained: “She has been keeping vigil from time to time. I believe she is guilt-ridden for leaving you behind.”

“She does not--” A wild, wracking coughing fit that made me suck for air interrupted me. Bethany sat still with a kind smile gracing her, patiently waiting for me to continue. “She does not need to feel guilt,” I tried again, my throat raw.

“I think you have to tell her that,” Bethany said, “because she isn’t listening to anyone else.” She was about to let the curtains down, and I leaned forward, putting a hand on hers.

“Please,” I said, “leave it open.”  
Bethany nodded, and let the curtains be. With a content sigh, I leaned back into my pallet, watching as Skyhold came closer.


	7. Chapter 7

By the Maker, how they cheered for her. Had they cheered like this for me as well? 

With the curiosity of a child, I leaned forward to steal a glimpse of the throng of people outside the prodding carriage. There were masons, milkmaids, carpenters, butchers, and whatnot, their hands outreached towards the Herald, tears streaking their smiling faces. It stood clear to me then that she was their guiding star, their light in the darkness, their prophet. Evelyn waved back to them from her mount, her back a bit stiff. I doubt the people noticed. The soldiers began to scatter from the firm line they had marched in, their faces grey with fatigue, their eyes shimmering as they returned into the arms of their loved ones. 

“Why are we not stopping?” I asked as our carriage continued to press forward, passing Evelyn and Cassandra. Bethany made a point of gesturing at her armor. “Ah,” I exhaled. Wardens were, once again, seen as traitors. How could I forget? It was as no years had passed at all, except that it had. The green, hibernating rift that now swirled in the sky, seen over the mountaintops, was both the result and a reminder of all years I missed. Years I never would get back. 

I leaned back in my seat of hay -- now moldy since there was a leak in the ceiling, but Bethany still looked at the cheering world outside. Her eyes were glued to a reuniting couple. By the dreamy, longing look she wore I concluded it was no one but Stroud that occupied her thoughts. When she noticed that I regarded her, she quickly averted her gaze, but I had no choice but to address the elephant in the room. 

“I am sorry about Stroud,” I said, not without compassion. She winced nonetheless. “Did he say when he is to return?”

“It’s impossible to tell,” she said, her voice low. “It depends on what the First Warden decides.”

I rested my arms on my thighs, unable to restrain myself from asking, “And why did you not go with him?”

She gave a light shrug. “The archdemon, I suppose. Some of us had to stay. A few of us were granted sanctuary by the Inquisition.”

“More than you and me? Who?”

She hesitated, her gaze once again touching the couple. “The Fereldan Warden-Commander, and some of his subordinates.” She flushed. ”The new Commander, will say,” she quickly corrected herself. "I do not know him very well. I was stationed in the Marches."

“Oh.” I did not know what to say, so I decided to remain quiet. Bethany seemed content with that, her gaze absent. We stayed in silence until the carriage came to a jerky stop. My stomach whirled with nervosity. 

“Everything has been taken care of,” Bethany said as she extended a hand to me. “We enter through the backdoor and meet up with the rest of them.” She heaved me up, and I flinched as something inside me literally creaked. She hopped out from the carriage, down on the cobblestones, and helped me out. I chuckled as I slid down to the ground, my weakened legs shaking beneath me. 

“What is it?” She quirked a brow, her eyes keen to know what I found so amusing.

I leaned against her shoulder, not feeling strong enough to stand on my own. “This is the first time in over nine years I stand on real ground,” I said. “And Maker, it is so much better than I remember.”

She joined my chuckle as her arm snaked itself around my waist. I still had not gotten used to human touch, and I shivered with the satisfaction of being close to another human being. “I can imagine.”

After nodding to the coachman, she led me inside the great, grey Skyhold. I could almost not believe my eyes. The fortress felt warm, in spite of the many reparations that were needed, not at all as hard as the outside. Walking through the servants' quarters, no one took any notice of us, except for a couple of glares here and there. It was evident that my identity as a ‘hero’ was unrevealed, or at the very least, uncared for. 

“Maker,” Bethany said, panting, as we reached the end of a staircase. 

“Maker,” I echoed, my chest burning with exhaustion. I leaned against her shoulder, trying not to put too much of my weight on her. “Bethany, I do not think I am up for a meeting. Not now.”

She regarded me for a long moment, her brows slightly narrowed. “If you stay here,” she said and gently removed my arm from around her neck, “I’ll go see if I can find Josephine. She will show us to your room.”

“All right.” I slid down the wall, my breaths all wheezes. “I am not going anywhere.” I managed to put on a smile. She returned it and disappeared down the hall. That was when I realized that one good thing with being fully drained of energy was that the nervosity was long gone. It is certainly hard to worry about anything when you want nothing more than to take lungfuls of air. 

I closed my eyes, concentrating on my breathing. I counted to twenty before my breathing turned back to normal. It was shortly after that the clappering of hobbled shoes against the stone floor stole my attention. 

When I opened my eyes, I expected to see Bethany and this Josephine walking towards me. It was not. My tongue grew thick and heavy, fat even. I would have recognized that hair anywhere. Like fire, she hurried towards me. 

Leliana. 

As I had in the Fade, I pressed my back against the stone wall behind me, trying to keep myself footed. But I was not in the Fade -- for good and bad, and the stone wall did little to soothe me. Especially when she stopped right before me, her eyes meticulously drifting over my being, all while not saying a word. I did not even hear her breathe. I dared myself to look at her, nearly losing my breath once again. She was beautiful, but I saw that the years had aged her. Her hair had grown a bit longer since I last saw her, and her face was thinner, her eyes harder. I concluded that she was even more beautiful now than then, but in truthness, none of that really mattered. The only thing I cared about was, what did she see when she looked at me? 

She still stood there, silent, with her eyes judging me. What she did not yet know, was that I judged myself. Ages of shame filled me, and even more so when I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

I had practiced for this moment. Many uncomfortable hours in the carriage had passed as I thought about how to explain myself. And, most importantly, how to apologize. After they told me she -- Leliana of Orlais, Laysister of the Chantry in Lothering -- had become the Left Hand of the Divine and later the spymaster of the Inquisition, I simply knew I had to come up with something wise to say to my own defense. 

But, of course, the words and carefully put sentences had flown away and left me with tears burning behind my eyes. So I clambered up from my sitting position, leaning my shoulder against the wall for support. If she wanted to cuff my cheek and kick me out, I would rather be standing. 

“Leli…” I tried again, almost croaking. “I know this isn’t what you expected, and I wish --”

“Elissa?” Leliana said softly, wondering, interrupting me. The accent in her voice was not as prominent as it once was. “Can it really be?” 

She brought out a pale, ink-stained hand towards me, as if trying to see if I truly was made of flesh. She had new rings on her fingers. Silver, of course. She never wore anything but. At least that had not changed. I did not hesitate as I grabbed her hand, although the baubles probably hid poisons of all kinds.

Leliana then let out a wrenching sob and pulled me into a hard embrace. She still smelled of flowers and oiled leather. My frail body struggled to breathe in her strong arms, but I did not care. I answered her embrace, ignoring the protests of my muscles. Tears trickled down my cheeks, and I allowed myself to sag into her safe arms. I felt her muscles strain as they tightened their grip around me, but she did not let me go. 

She never had. 

“All these years,” Leliana whispered into my ear. “When Hawke and the Herald sent me the message I thought they’d met an imposter. But here you are, Ellie, and not a day have you aged.”

“I could still be,” I answered, trying to smile behind my tears. “How can you be so sure?”

Leliana let out something that was both a short laugh and a sob. She took a step back but held her hands on my shoulders. 

“I’ve always known you better than yourself,” she said and dried away my tears with her thumb. She was probably right. Resting a warm hand against my cheek, she continued, “Maybe the Maker has not abandoned us, after all. The one who takes also gives.” Grief suddenly stained her features. My heart ached for her.

“We met the Divine,” I slowly began, but I did not get any further before she interrupted me. Her hand left my cheek, and a sudden cold got to where she had touched me. Oh, this divine, human touch! 

“ _Oui,_ Cassandra already told me. There’s no need to dwell on the past.” She must have realized she sounded harsh because the tiniest of smiles returned to grace her lips, but then her brows abruptly narrowed. “We have a lot to speak about, but Josie told me she had let have a room prepared for you. You look tired. Come.” She gently put an arm around me. 

I looked around the hallway. “But Bethany --”

“-- have gone to join with the other wardens, as I told her to.” Her smile grew slightly wider. “Do you really believe I would let anyone inspect you before me?”

*

The room made for me was quite modest. Besides a simple but soft bed and a nightstand holding a lit wax candle, there was a desk and a chair, all smelling of fresh wood. A bureau stood a bit awkwardly next to the door, too big for the small space. I imagined that the woodworkers had to be busy trying to fill the fortress and surrounding cabins with furniture. It was time-consuming to build up a place where to live. 

I liked the room. After all, there had been a long time since I had been a Teyrn's daughter. I was not picky. It was a space of my own, and since there had been an eternity since I had any belongings but what I wore, I hardly needed for more than that. 

Despite the soft cracklings from the stone-lined fireplace, the room was not warm. One of the walls was lined with embrasures where the cold sifted in, making my skin prickle. 

I felt more alive than when I first had jumped out of the rift. 

Leliana left me as soon as she had shown me to the room, saying she had work to do. I was unsure whether to believe her or not -- I only knew that I did not want her to leave. There was so much I wanted to ask her, to tell her, but as soon as I tentatively placed myself on the bed, I understood why she did that. I hadn’t until then realized how tired I was. 

My mouth felt sour and, I am sure, the rest of me stank as well, but I was too tired to ask the servants shuffling in the hallway to bring me a bath. Still wearing my clothes, I tried to make myself comfortable on the bed. The pillows were soft -- too soft, as was the mattress. After a short while of struggling, I placed myself on the floor. Sitting on the cold stone, leaning my back against the wall, feeling the brisk air from the embrasures above me, I felt my lids grow heavy. 

There was a tomorrow, I thought, closing my eyes. I could talk to Leliana next morrow.

*

I woke up in the midst of the night, the room covered in darkness. The candle and hearth had burnt out, and the cold was heavily wrapped around me. Covered in sweat, I struggled to breathe. The Calling had found me as well, and memories of generations of darkspawn surged in me. A quiet whisper spoke to me from afar, but after closing my eyes shut, as if trying to pretend that the hearth still was full with flickering flames, I felt that the voice was inside me.

“Leave me,” I said, and dragged my knees closer to me. The susurration seemed to gain momentum from my poorly hidden fear. “Leave me!” I repeated higher, shivering. “Leave me!” 

And it did.

After what felt like a lifetime, I pried one eye open. While the blackened hearth stared emptily at me, the candlelight gently danced as if nothing had happened. I hastily moved to the bed, grasping the blanket, before returning to where I sat, trying to shut the cold out. 

My heart stopped racing, and hoping it all had been a dream, I was about to go back to sleep. It was just then when the adrenaline had stopped pumping, I realized that my hand vibrated. 

I looked down at my hand and saw the ring -- the one Morrigan had gifted me, glow.


	8. Chapter 8

I ran out of the room with my heart in my mouth, the bliss from my newfound freedom shadowed by my nearly forgotten responsibilities. I had let my happiness over being reunited with Leliana take over my conscious mind, erasing the only reason why I was back in the realm of the living. 

Morrigan. Morrigan. Morrigan.

In one form or another, she had found me, giving me temporary relief from the Calling. Why? Why would she have done such a thing? Did she not know what kind of fate I had in store for her? 

Sweat from my brow dripped down on the floor. My dubious feelings had got to be settled. I was not glad of Morrigan’s protection, no, that was not why my heart raced. At least I told myself so. Because what other option did I have? Wynne had not given away so many of her years of trying to free me from the Fade just so I could sleep with a silly smile on my face in the safety of Skyhold. I refused to let Wynne - my friend, my mother, down. Again.

After a short while of running through the barely lit halls, I came to a stop. My body burned with desperate energy I could not unleash because I did not know where to find Leliana or Bethany. Neither had I seen Hawke or Isabela since the last day of our travel, and the same was with Evelyn and Cassandra. 

I was all alone again, in a large fortress full of sleeping people. The feeling was almost worse than the echoing loneliness of the Fade, because back then, the Spirit of Faith was always close, and my rock never far. 

The ring still glowed in the semidarkness, its light dull and dying. I dried away some sweat from my brow, trying to gather my thoughts. The walls felt as if they closed in on me, no matter how the tapestries tried to soften the harsh, grey walls. I had to get out. 

My feet remembered what I did not -- the fort was large and its hallways unfamiliar, at least not until I reached the stairway that brought me down to the servants’ levels. I heard whispers and the shuffling of feet, and behind every other corner, I imagined I could see the light from a burning candlelight vanish. After living a life surrounded by servants, I knew that they often did their best to be as invisible as they possibly could, but this night it felt uncanny. Never had they avoided me this much. 

In the downstair kitchen, a couple of young maids slept on the kitchen bench. They could not be older than fifteen years, and my heart felt for them. By their feet, a mutt of some raggy kind laid. He must’ve heard my hurried footsteps and he raised his head, looking at me. His tail hesitantly whipped the floor as he tried to decide my character. I gave him a quick smile -- I was a Fereldan, after all -- but continued my way out. When I came to the last heavy iron-and-oak door I pushed down the handle as quietly I could. The door must, just as the furniture in my room, have been new since it did not make a single creak. 

I stepped out on the cobblestones and the nightly gusts immediately grasped at my hair. The skin on my arms prickled by the biting chill, but I found that my heart immediately slowed its pace as I stared up at the starry sky. 

Morrigan had sensed my earthly presence. I did not know what to do or what to feel except for a kind of hate I at that moment could not muster. I ripped the ring off my finger. The glowing light immediately ebbed out, leaving the ring blank and cold. I put the ring in my palm, surrounding it with the callouses I got from battles fought a decade ago. Then I closed my hand into a fist and decided to try finding some sort of way about the place. 

Skyhold at night differed a lot from Skyhold at day. Where the crowd of people had stood and welcomed us back there now was next to nothing. It was with relief I spotted a couple of sentinels patrolling the fort walls. I continued walking around the courtyard, the ring painfully clutched in my hand, my heart a little lighter. 

I could, once again, breathe without effort. Knowing that I was not alone, I was able to hear the voices of people talking in their tents and huts, and from the other side of the walls, a dog barked in a warning. And was that music, too? Yes, I would have recognized the sound of a lute anywhere. Music!

I steered my steps toward the sound, feeling content with that something long dead in me was awakening. It was easy to find the source. What else was it but a tavern, with a large sign naming it _Herald’s Rest._ What did the Herald herself think of having a tavern named after her? It did not take me long to find out.

I opened the door and walked into the warm, loud space, expecting a regular scene of people sitting at their tables drinking and playing cards. It was not.

The doe-eyed Herald, who a fortnight ago had confided in me about her insecurities, sat next to a ragtag group of both humans, elves and a qunari, seemingly deep in a drinking game. Isabela, on the other hand, was up on a table with a jagged haired elf, doing Maker’s know what, while Hawke and Bethany sat on some chairs around her with a dwarf. 

I quickly dumped the ring in my pocket. 

As if she felt my presence, Bethany turned her head towards me. As she saw me, she smiled. She whispered something to her sister, who immediately beckoned me to come to join them. 

“So the Hero graces us with her presence,” Isabela said from up on the table, squatting down to me. I shrugged and tried to smile.

“A woman of few words! I already like you.” It was the dwarf who rose his goblet to me in greeting. “Hawke, are you not supposed to introduce us?” He nudged her with his elbow. 

Hawke rolled with her eyes, languidly leaning back in her chair, putting her feet on the table. “Elissa, meet my friend Varric Tethras. We go long back," she said with a close to apologetic smile. "Varric, meet Elissa Cousland, the reason I'm still alive. And,” Hawke gestured to the elf who had clambered down from the table, “this is Sera.” 

“Heya,” Sera said. She then leaned towards me, as if inspecting me, before beaming from ear to ear. “Yeah, it really is you! Didn't believe it. I saw you in Denerim, you know. Before the big battle. Thought you died.”

I stiffened, my hand clutching at my healed ribs. “I am pleased to meet you both,” I said, my mouth parched. My attention was, however, undividedly directed to Sera. “You were in Denerim?” I wetted my lips, trying and failing to get rid of the dryness. 

“Yeah,” she said. Her lower lip jutted out as if she was disappointed. “You and the King visited us at the orphanage, shaking our hands and all.”

Maybe I did remember her. A young girl with hay-colored locks and a wide smile showing the loss of a milk tooth or two, always close to laughter. But what I with all certainty did remember was the daughter of my lover Iona. Iona had died the night Rendon Howe slaughtered my family, a painful memory that only softened first in the arms of Morrigan. Amethyne, the daughter's name was. A girl with hair like ember, put in the orphanage after the death of her mother. Without thinking, I shot up to Sera, grasping the collar of her shirt.

“Amethyne?” I asked, my stomach writhing. I had to know where I could find her. “What happened to her? Where is she?”

“Hey, hey!” It was Hawke, who somehow now was behind me. She dragged me away from Sera. “Calm down, Commander.” 

“Answer me!” I demanded, my gaze fixed on Sera, my body held back by Hawke’s strong arms. 

Sera, the awe completely gone from her eyes, glowered at me. 

“Come on, Buttercup,” Varric urged. “Tell her what you know.”

Sera crossed her arms over her chest. “Dunno’,” she said reluctantly. “She disappeared.”

I sagged, the newfound strength all gone. Bethany helped Hawke get me to a chair. I should have thanked them, but found myself too tired. 

“Here.” It was Isabela, now down on the floor, who slid me a mug. “Drink this. It’s the best medicine you'll find on this side of town.” 

“I do not drink,” I said. I spoke so quietly I thought they didn’t hear me. The memory of Iona being pierced by arrows burned behind my eyes. Her surprised gasp, the dark blood trailing the floor. She took the arrows meant for me. 

“You do now,” Hawke said and patted my back. 

I stared down the brown-colored liquid. I did not come up with a good reason why I shouldn’t drink. Neither Wynne nor Leliana was here to remind me.

So I lifted the cup. “Sera,” I said, settling my gaze on her, trying to soften it. “I do remember you, and I am glad to meet you again.” 

She smiled, my outburst already forgiven, and I drank. 

*

The draft and occasional sun rays that found their way in through the glass-less windows was what awakened me. My mouth was webbed with sticky saliva, my body wet with sweat, my head pounding. 

It was painful to open my eyes, and while it took me a few beats to wake up completely, I found that I did not know where I was. This was not the room from which I had escaped. 

Someone sighed. I knew that sigh well. 

“I should have known better than to leave you alone.” Leliana perched herself on the side of the bed, stroking a few strands of hair from my face. She was dressed in a lilac robe of sorts, the pin stating her as the Spymaster of the Inquisition proudly attached to her chest. She saw the question that was formed in my eyes. “Bethany and Evelyn brought you to me. According to them, you had cried for over a candle mark.” 

“Oh.” My cheeks burned with shame. “I am sorry,” I said, struggling to form the words. “And I am sorry for what I did to you. Do not say it is all in the past.” I did not bear to look at her as I said it. She was aware of what I apologized of. The night before everything went downhill. (As if it hadn't been downhill before.)

She let out a short, mirthless chuckle. “Don’t be, _mon Coeur._ ” I flinched. Her voice was soft. _“_ I always knew your heart belonged to someone else. I gave myself to you because I loved you, and because you needed me. The world was ending, after all.”

“I loved you. I still do,” I said.

For a short moment, she looked away. “I know.” It was not the same sort of love. She had been my best friend, my loyal advisor, but not the one who held my heart in her hands. If she had, I mused, she probably wouldn't have crushed it the way Morrigan had.

Morrigan. I held my breath, about to ask Leliana the inevitable. If anyone knew Morrigan's whereabouts, it was Leliana. “Do--Do you know where she is?” 

Leliana sat silent for what felt like years.

“Morrigan?" she wondered. I gave a small nod. "No. No, I don’t. To this day I have agents looking for her, but not once have they found a trace. She surely knows how to hide.”

I wondered if Leliana knew what Morrigan had done. I doubted it. Leliana, although knowing more than most about people’s shadowed insides, would not have suspected Morrigan for being Flemeth’s minion. Her hand stilled on my cheek.

“Bethany told me about the incident with Sera,” she said. "That you inquired about Iona's daughter."

“Yes? Do you know anything?” A sprout of hope made me look right into her eyes. They were stroked with a stonelike hardness, and I immediately knew she was bringing forth bad news. If her gaze held a tang of compassion, I was unable to see it. What had happened to her during all these years?

“She died, Ellie. Amethyne died,” she told me. It was the blatant truth, not more, not less. I stared at a crack between two wall bricks, focusing so intensely on it that the crack and her voice were the only things that existed. “Alistair put her pyre next to yours. He knew it was how you should have wanted it.”

“Yes,” I repeated. “I shall thank him for that.” I closed my eyes. “How?”

“A sword through her heart. Darkspawn. She... didn't suffer.”

Of course, she suffered. We both knew. That was a lie Leliana could tell most people who did not want to hear the truth. I was not most people.

“Do you want me to let you be?” Leliana asked after a while of heavy silence, occasionally broken by a raven’s _kraa_. I forced the picture of the scrawny young Amethyne and her pale mother out from my mind.

If I played my cards straight, it was only a matter of time before I rejoined with them. 

“No, Leli,” I said. I sat up on the bed next to her, crossing my legs and clasped her hands in mine. I bit my lip as the motion made me dizzy. “I wish you to tell me about you, about Alistair, Anora, the Sten, Zevran. I have lost so many years.”

She looked at my hands. “Your ring is gone,” she said instead of answering. 

“I took it off,” I said curtly. I wondered if it still were in my pocket. 

Leliana’s face softened into a wan smile. She suspected I hid something but was kind enough to let it pass. “There's a meeting with the council soon. I don’t have time to tell you it all now.” She took a glass with water from the nightstand table and shoved it into my hand. “Drink this.”

“Tell me _your_ story, at least,” I insisted, sipping on the cold water. It tasted heavenly. “Tell me about you. Everything.”

“I’m no longer a storyteller,” she told me. Something in her eyes hardened anew, but I understood that it was not aimed at me. 

“I do not believe you.” I shook my head in disbelief. “But please. What happened after the archdemon? How did you end up in Divine Justinia’s service?” I tilted my head, knowing she would fall for it like she once used to. "It is me you are talking to."

"I saw you die," Leliana said, her voice almost cracking. Her grip around my hand tightened. "Never in my wildest dreams I thought we could talk again."

"Me neither." I gave her a genuine smile. "So we better make use of this moment. Tell me."

“Divine Justinia.” A rueful smile curled the edges of her lips. “I have already told you about her, but she had another name back then. She was Revered Mother Dorothea, the one who once saved my life.”

And that was how Leliana told her first story in years.


	9. Chapter 9

When I returned to my room, I found that servants had not only lit the fireplace but also filled a steaming oak tub for me. On the made bed new clothes lay spread next to an undented armor. The door clicked closed behind me and I rushed up to my new armor, feeling as if I was a child receiving gifts during Satinalia. 

The golden griffon shone proudly on the chest plate, the armor complete with a winged, open helmet. As I caressed the cold metal, a delighted thrill went down my spine. Both pieces were officially reinstating me as the Fereldan Warden-Commander, meaning the First Warden must have heard of my return. I wondered what the new Commander thought about it.

I slowly doffed the rags that I had worn, and quickly unpocketed Morrigan’s ring and hid it in the oversized bureau. Out of sight, out of mind. I was, in all honesty, afraid of what could happen if I continued to see the ring, let alone wear it. I did not wish for another intervention. 

Trying to shake away the memory of the foregoing night, I took a bath before donning my new clothes and armor, preparing myself to join the council meeting Leliana had spoken of. The clear water had turned dark with sins and dust by the time I got up. It felt as if I was born anew. 

I carefully brushed my wet hair with a simple wooden brush, and then braided it. My hands did not quiver as I set the helmet on my head, after spending more time than I’d like to admit to don the rest of my armor. 

Just as the helmet closed itself around my ears, a knuckle rapped lightly on my door, quickly followed by the sound of Bethany harrumphing. “Warden-Commander Cousland?”

“Yes?” 

“I’m here to deliver a package,” Bethany said from the other side of the door. “From the Warden-Commander.”

I hurried to the door and pulled it open. She smiled widely as she saw me in the Order’s armor. “It looks good on you,” she said, but she didn’t quite meet my eyes. “I heard that Sister Leliana told the blacksmith to work on it as soon as she got my sister’s letter.”

So the First Warden had not approved of my position. I shifted my weight where I stood. It was maybe as well, I tried to tell myself, because this other Warden-Commander was with all certainty a better fit. And, I reminded myself, I was not here to reclaim my position.

I was here for revenge. I ignored the burning lances of disappointment.

“It’s a bit too large,” I said glumly, not at all successful in ignoring my disappointment, but my eyes were glued at the linen-wrapped package she held. In spite of the careful wrapping, its shape revealed its content. It was a sword. 

Bethany lumbered into my room. “No wonder. Your straps are too loose,” she said, placing my gift on the bed. “Let me help you.” 

She strode up to me and helped to correct my straps. 

It was an embarrassing moment for me, only mildly soothed by the thought that most knights had squires to help them.

“Thank you,” I said when she was done. Bethany only smiled.

“Jean-Marc always--” She shook her head, abruptly stopping herself, as if she wanted to keep her memories private. I did not blame her. “So, the gift,” she reminded us both and gestured to it. 

“From the new Warden-Commander.” I hoped she did not hear my bitterness. I went up to the gift and gently unwrapped the linen. 

It was not what I had expected. Or, in some ways, it was, because it was indeed a sword. But it was not an ordinary blade made from iron. I let out a gasp as I studied the craftsmanship. 

“We cannot have our Hero back without a sword,” Bethany said with a quiet laugh. “Do you like it?”

My fingers followed the engraved runes on the blade. 

“If I like it?” I slowly grasped the sword by its magnificent hilt, weighing it in my hand. “No, I love it. It is beautiful. Is it made of volcanic aurum?”

Bethany went to my side, inspecting the blade. “I believe it is. The Commander told me he had let it made before the Siege of Vigil’s Keep.”

Another thing I’d missed. Vigil’s Keep had been attacked?

Bethany must have seen how crestfallen I felt because she added; “If you come to _Herald’s rest_ later, I’ll tell you all about it. It was a milestone for the Order.”

“I am not so sure I dare to show my face there any longer,” I said with a small huff. “Leliana told me I apparently was quite miserable. I am sorry about that.”

Bethany put her hand on my shoulder. “We have all been there, Commander,” she said, not making a big deal of it. She then nodded towards the door. “Come now, or you will miss the meeting. Leliana told me you were to be there?”

“That was my plan.”

“Let me show you the way,” she offered. 

I sheathed the sword in my up until then empty scabbard and smiled to her. I was beyond thankful for all her help.

“What would I do without you?”

“Oh,” she said with a small chuckle. “Let’s not find out!”

She led me down through narrow, creaky flights to a large hall. Bethany stopped there, I half a step behind her. She pointed to a door. “The meeting is in there,” she said. She looked about, seeing only servants. “But I think they already assembled.”

“You will not come?” I asked, surprised. 

“No, no,” she said. “The Commander wanted me to report back to him.” She began to walk away. “Have fun!” she called to me over her shoulder.

I grasped the door handle. “Bethany?” I asked. “Who is the new Warden-Commander?”

I did not receive an answer. She had already vanished. 

*

I was taught to nod, smile, and listen. As a noblewoman, cunning or not, that was how you elevated your name and House. As a politician, that got you closer to your goals. But, since the day I lost my name and House, my only goal was to bring down the Archdemon.

And Urthemiel had not cared for my nods and smiles, however sweet they were.

But I was prepared to do just that when I stepped into the room. Nod, smile, listen. I had no say in this meeting anyway -- I was not a member of the Inquisition. I hardly understood what Thedas had turned into, in spite of Stroud’s and Bethany’s many explanations. 

I was surprised to see that the room I entered was next to empty, except for a neat desk. 

I sucked on my lips, about to go back out in the hall all while wondering if Bethany had helped Sera play a joke on me (I had during the wet night learned that ‘jokes’ was Sera’s expertise) when a soft voice startled me. 

“They are in there, Warden-Commander.” An elven woman hid behind a desk in a corner, and pointed with her hand to another door further in. She smiled politely at me, and I suspected I was not the first to be confused.

“Thank you,” I said with a swift bow of my head. In the corner of my eye, I saw her eyes widen in surprise. This had at least not changed since before my demise: elves were still unused to be met with respect. 

  
Even before I opened the door, muffled, upset voices told me that this meeting was not going too well. I removed my helmet, put it between my arm and the side of my chest and steeled myself, trying to find confidence in the armor I wore, and dragged the door open. 

If it had not been for Leliana giving me the swiftest of glances, it was as if they had not noticed me. Leliana stood with her gloved hands pressed on a large, round table, her eyes pinned at Cassandra. Cassandra, in turn, stood with her arms folded across her chest, staring at an Antivan woman next to Leliana. I assumed that was Josephine; Leliana had mentioned her. Evelyn stood beside Cassandra, quiet and with dark circles around her eyes, and a pale-faced, fur-clad man with a sour expression. 

I recognized him, but from where? My mind began to swirl with memories, trying to place him. 

“Ser Cullen!” I blurted, interrupting the heated discussion. I had met him at Kinloch Hold, the poor man besotten and broken by dark magic. “Is it you?”  
His head spun to me, his eyes wide-open before crinkling into a small smile. “Warden-Commander,” he said. “I was wondering when you were to turn up!” He walked up to me. “I saw you back at Adamant, but I doubt you remember me. My entrance was modest compared to yours.” He grasped my hand. It was a firm grip. “It gladdens me you’re back to health.”

“But--” I looked about the room, briefly meeting Josephine’s kind face, before returning to Cullen. “But what are you doing here?”

“I’m supposed to be the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces,” he said, close to muttering while shooting a glare to Leliana and Josephine. “Sister Leliana and Lady Josephine, however, seem to want me to be their puppet in the Winter Palace. All while my wounded men are bleeding out in tents on the other side of the wall!” His voice rose with anger. 

“What Commander Rutherford is saying,” Josephine intervened calmly, her voice a measured melody, “is that he and Seeker Cassandra both are needed by the Inquisitor’s side in the Palace. They are… reluctant,” she added with a half-smile. 

“Reluctant?” Cassandra fiercely shook her head. “Opposing, rather!”

“At least they agree on something for once,” Evelyn said, a weak smile lingering on her lips. “But Josie and Leliana are right in one thing,” she went on, putting one hand on both Cassandra and Cullen. “I do need you. Please.”

It was probably the cracked, tired ‘please’ that did it. Cullen and Cassandra shared a long, equally pained look, before agreeing. 

“But I refuse to put on a dress,” Cassandra growled. 

“And I do too,” Cullen said. 

Josephine quickly promised to come up with an alternative, before Cassandra or Cullen had time to change their minds. 

The meeting was closed only a moment later. In a week’s time, they all were to leave for Halamshiral and the Winter Palace. No wonder that Evelyn looked tired, drinking contest set aside -- she had just the day before returned from Adamant. But duty called, and it waited for no one.

“I am pleased to finally meet you, Warden-Commander,” Josephine said when we both turned towards the door, she holding onto a stack of notes, I nothing but boredom. She forestalled what I was about to say with a raised hand. “I must apologize for the room and lack of welcoming. Sister Nightingale refused to let me prepare a more suitable --”

“She could have been an imposter, Josie!” Leliana joined in. “One never knows.”

“It is all right,” I said, gesturing for them both to exit the room first. “I am more than content. Although,” I gave Josephine a small smile, “I hope you may trust me with an oil lantern now. The candle burned out…”

“Of course,” she said. “I will make sure to arrange it right away.” She bowed and seated herself by the desk right outside the Council room. 

Leliana whispered something to Josephine. While I did not hear what was said, or while neither of their faces revealed anything, Leliana for the briefest of moments touched Josephine’s shoulder in an intimate way. 

It looked innocent to most, but I knew Leliana’s hands. For what seemed an age ago she had touched me in that same way. 

“I bid you a good day, Commander,” Cullen said as he passed me. 

“And I to you, Commander.” 

He flashed me a white smile that erased his weary looks, before striding out into the main hall. 

“Where are you going?” It was Evelyn who had crept up on me. 

“Bethany told me to meet her at the tavern,” I said. “To tell me more of what I missed. It seems to be quite a lot.” I held in an exasperated sigh at the thought. “Do you want to come with?”

“I better,” Evelyn said and referenced to the night before, slapping my armored back with a metallic _clong_. 

I shrugged, trying my best to not look abashed. She laughed lightly as she probably spotted the heat sneaking up my neck.

“Imagine,” I said as we came out into the grande hall, “if you had not fallen and opened a Rift, I would still be stuck in there. I do not know how to thank you.” 

“Hm,” she replied, for a few steps quiet. “I left you to die.”

I stopped, grasping her arm, looking into her eyes. “I chose to do that. It was an honor.” All I said was the truth. 

“Why?” Evelyn returned my gaze. “Why was that an honor?”

“Except that you are the only one capable of saving the world?” I shook my head. “I should not even be here, Evelyn. But,” I said with what I hoped was a stern tone, indicating that the discussion was over, “the other reasons I must keep to myself.”

“Hold up!” It was Leliana who hurried towards us. “I need to speak with you both.” 

“About what?” Evelyn wondered. 

“About Elissa.” Leliana’s eyes betrayed nothing. “There are things I haven’t had time to tell yet, and as the head of the Inquisition, you ought to know,” she said to Evelyn.

Evelyn and I shared a puzzled glance.

"Let us go for a walk," I proposed. "I need some fresh air." I gave a nod towards the pale Evelyn. "As does she, I believe."

Leliana hesitated, looking at a shadow behind me. I turned to look where she had, but saw no one. "All right," Leliana said.

We went through the double doors out into the courtyard, the sun a pleasant surprise. It immediately warmed my cheeks. 

Bethany stood outside the _Herald’s rest,_ clad in a glistening armor, involved in a conversation. I waved to her, trying to steal her attention, to show that I was delayed. She spotted me and waved back, smiling. 

Before her stood a man with his back to me, hair black as a raven’s wing. His armor had the same elegance as mine; the golden griffon on his back seemed to breathe in the sunlight. He could be no other but the new Warden-Commander. 

I patted the sword in my sheath. Whatever Leliana had to say could wait; I only wanted to express him my gratitude for the gift. 

“Wait,” I told Evelyn and Leliana both, already on my way over to him and Bethany.

“It is as well,” Leliana said slowly. 

“What is?” Evelyn asked, her voice already a distant sound. 

“Warden Bethany, Warden-Commander,” I greeted as I approached them. Bethany turned to me, as did the Warden-Commander. “Thank you for the gift. It is a magnificent piece,” I begun, but I suddenly found myself stunned. 

The Warden-Commander had turned towards me, his hair strewn across his face, over his aquiline nose. His eyes were grim, his smile sad. I could not breathe.

“Elissa Cousland,” Nathaniel Howe said. He kneeled before me. “I welcome your sentence.”


	10. Chapter 10

His eyes had not changed. They were still grey like the mists of the Fade and I found that my vision became blurred. I was trapped in his gaze, my sense of direction and self muddled; for how long I do not know. Time had become something warped, something so entirely foreign to me, that I no longer could comprehend it. All I knew was the choking reminder of loss. In the mists of his eyes, I saw the ravenous smoke that ate my home and family like a pack of blighted wolves. 

How dared he 'welcome my sentence', to be so eerily serene? All I wanted to feel was his spluttering ire. Did he not know what I had taken from him? Did he not feel what I felt?

I had stolen from him. I had held his father’s beating heart in my hands and crushed it. By doing that, I had taken Rendon’s sins into my own, degrading flesh. 

And I would do it again. And again. And again. I would not stop until the Fade leaked out into the palpable world and turned his bleeding heart to ash. 

My hand grasped the sword’s hilt. As I unsheathed it, the sword whispered the words I was unable. He did not flinch at the promise of vengeance, but not like an un-twitching deer that senses danger. Instead, he was still like a brother in prayer, his hands clasped over his raised knee. His eyes never left mine, not even when I let the swordpoint rest at his throat. 

His father had seen into my soul and laughed before I sentenced him by my own will. But Nathaniel was not his father. Nathaniel had always been kind to me, in spite of our childhood’s many quarrels. So when I saw him, I did not see the man who made him, nor the man he had become. All I saw was a child; a child that pretended that sticks were swords. Because he was not more of his father than I was mine. I would never be as loving as the former Teyrn of Highever, a fact that had taken me long to accept. Maybe evil, just like pure goodness, was not something that ran in the veins of men?

My certainty wavered. As did my hand. The blade he had given me was sharp and without nicks, and a small trail of bright blood trickled down his throat where I cut through a layer of weathered skin. 

I will never forget what he did next. His eyes; containing the tormenting mists of my prison and the suffocating smokes of destruction, softened into a smile. Not a triumphant one; and certainly not the malicious’ of his father. But a kind, encouraging smile, as if allowing me to behead him.

As Loghain had.

Finally, I understood why Loghain smiled when I executed him. My sword jangled to the ground.

He forgave me.


	11. Chapter 11

Forgiveness. It is such a small word, but it contains multitudes. My chest felt as if it cut in half, the day I met Nathaniel. For all lives I had taken, all the unnecessary deaths caused by my rage - caused by the injustice made against me. 

Maybe my sorrow was more for myself than them. It was I, after all, who had to live with the guilt. 

No, I could not take his life. Instead, I saluted to him as he was my superior, while rueful tears dimmed my vision. Yet again I wondered if Duncan would have been proud of me. Not so much over my salute or tears, but because I made a decision the same moment I dropped my sword.

Once again, I decided to honor Wynne, and more importantly, my Order. But not in the way I had until now. In doing so, I had to move on from my past of billowing smoke and hurt. I needed to focus. 

After the years spent in bilious limbo, I was not returning to execute an old friend, not even the son to an erstwhile nemesis. I was here to kill my quondam lover and the beast she had given birth to.

I had lived in a spiritual luxury ever since escaping the Fade’s fangs, spending my time by _thinking_ about how to reclaim world order. Thinking, I figured, was a waste of precious time. I needed to take action. If Leliana had spoken the truth to me -- that she was unaware of Morrigan’s whereabouts, I in Nathaniel might have gained a confidante, now when Stroud was on his way to Weisshaupt Fortress. As a Warden, I could not merely tell Leliana the secrets bound to the Order. (I could, of course, have done that. But I’d rather stick to the version that it was information only for the Grey than having to admit to Leliana that I had trusted Morrigan with the fate of the world.)

I had my suspicions on where Morrigan might be. I knew that if Morrigan had been hiding in Thedas, Leliana would have found her, and while Morrigan only fleeting had mentioned something about “ancient mirrors and a realm beyond the Fade”, it could be nowhere else than this 'realm beyond the Fade' she had hidden. But was she so powerful now that her magical abilities could transcend places long forgotten? Somehow, I doubted it. But what other clues did I have?

A thought rooted in my mind. This just cause was all I needed to regain my sense of direction and self. To succeed, I needed Morrigan to be my _only_ sense. 

Flemeth had bested me in battle once, and I knew Morrigan better than anyone. She had grown stronger; I had felt that the night she broke into my mind. 

I needed to get Nathaniel on board with my plan. He would, given that I had not misjudged him. 

But I had to learn more, first. 

I later got to know that it was Nathaniel’s presence that Leliana had wanted to tell Evelyn and me about. I overheard a servant whisper about the harsh punishment Leli had given her agent trailing the Warden-Commander for not warning her that he was outside. If the scuttlebutt was true or not, I let be unsaid. But Leliana was, in many ways, not the girl I once knew. None of us were. 

And so the following days passed, not fast nor slow. As the date for Leliana’s and Evelyn’s trip to the Winter Palace closed in, I realized that the nights began to ate me. They slowly devoured all of my thoughts, until only Morrigan remained. I remembered all of her. Both good and bad.

Her rare smiles. Her acrid retorts. Her feather-light kisses. Her betrayal. 

No one knew what occupied me. They only saw me; someone long past her prime, sitting in the library, reading and taking notes. Dorian Pavus, a mage that was more fond of the library than even myself, one time peered over my shoulder down at the book I was reading. 

“Ancient elven magic?” he had wondered with great interest. He’d fiddled with his carefully managed mustache, his brow eloquently raised. He sounded astonished that I, a warrior by heart, had found interest in magi. But before he remarked on that, he probably remembered that I had been in the Fade for years, and maybe concluded that was the reason. 

There is a lot one can say about mages, but one thing I have learned is an absolute truth, is that they are great at sensing people’s state of mind. Suffice to say; he did not continue to bother me. At least not until one late night. 

We were alone in the library, and a lone candle was my only source of light. The noise coming from _Herald’s rest_ was so loud that I heard it up in the tower I was seated in. So loud that I switched between rubbing at my sleepy eyes and my temples. 

He harrumphed discreetly just as he was to leave the library to get to what I assumed was the tavern, or rather one of Evelyn’s drinking friends, Bull. I looked at him.

“Yes?” I said. I was prepared for him to ask me if I wanted to join, so what he said surprised me.

He rubbed the nape of his neck. “If you are interested in elven magic,” he said, his voice quiet in spite of us being alone. “You ought to speak with Hawke or Isabela.”

“Oh,” was the only answer I could come up with. “Thank you.”

He gave me a wink and disappeared. I stared at where he’d stood, then at the book in front of me. After a short contemplation, I slammed it shut. Though I was not sure how or why Hawke and Isabela would hold any information of value regarding magic, especially the elven kind, it was worth a try. 

My mother used to tell me that one never should judge a book by the cover. My mother, bless her, had obviously never met Morrigan, but maybe Morrigan was the sole exception. Because Hawke and Isabela, and even Varric and Bethany, it turned out, did know a little more about elven magic -- Eluvians, more specifically, than the outdated and irrelevant books I had used in my research to find Morrigan. 

That night, I found Hawke and her sister playing cards with Isabela and Varric. I thought they did not notice me as I went to stand next to them, but without giving me so much as a glance, Hawke acknowledged me.

“You’re here for another drink?” she said. The comment gave rise to a few short laughs from the rest of them. It was impossible not to feel embarrassed. 

“No, not exactly,” I began, but Varric cut me short.

“Grab a chair, kiddo,” he said, peering at me over his cards. “Take a seat.” 

Bethany beat me to it. She leaned her chair backward and grabbed an empty one from the table next to them, receiving not only one glare from the ones sitting next to it. 

“Hey!” one of the men with a crooked nose called out. While he was dressed casually in a stained cotton shirt, I recognized him and his fellows as guards. “We need that one.”

“Not anymore you don’t,” Isabela responded airily. The men, now seeing who they quarreled with, let out a few grunts before letting it go. I shrugged and placed myself on the chair, in between both Isabela and Bethany. 

“Fold,” Varric said with a sigh. He did not look too upset about it though. He regarded the rest of the players with amusement, sipping on his beverage. 

The next in line was Bethany who contained a small smile. I had seen something Isabela for once hadn’t, and that was how Bethany peeked on her cards while retrieving my chair. Clever, although it was a move I hadn’t expected from the one who’d nursed me back to health. “Call,” she said.

Isabela, with theatrical relish, sat quietly before bursting out, “Rise!” It was with a sly half-smile she watched Hawke make her move. 

“Ugh,” Hawke said. She dragged a hand through her hair, contemplating her cards. “Sure. Why not. Rise.” 

Bethany pulled another card from the deck. She muttered a little. 

“What is wrong, Sunshine?” Varric wondered, the edges around his eyes crinkling into a smile. “The cards not in your favor?”

“Not your business,” Bethany responded glumly. 

“Let the poor thing be,” Isabela totted. “It’s not easy losing.” 

Hawke sent Varric’s folded card a look, huffing with mirth. “As you should know.”

“You wound me!”

“Write a book about it!” Isabela said and pulled another card. Her half-smile widened into a triumphant grin. She spread her cards out on the table, putting her feet on the table. “Angel of Death,” she announced and showed said card to the rest of them, thus ending the game, before gesturing at the rest of her cards. “And look at my hand! I win. As always.” She was gloating as always, I did not say, although I thought it without exasperation. Instead, I felt my lips twitch into a small smile. I had missed what they had; companionship, friendship, family. I missed jesting around. But these were things I had forbidden myself to think about.

“Not always,” Hawke said and jerked pointedly her chin to me, before returning to her half-empty goblet. Isabela waved her hand dismissively. 

“Ah, that Warden is the sole exception,” she said, giving me a wink. “Every rule needs one. Or two, when needed.”

Bethany stared incredulously at Isabela’s winning cards. “I can’t believe it,” she said resignedly. “I’m not even able to cheat!”

“Rivaini always has a hidden card up her sleeve,” Varric rumbled. 

“And it is often more difficult to cheat,” Hawke added, smiling almost motherly at her little sister. “Trust me, I know.”

“I’m still invincible,” Isabela concluded cheerily and collected her winning prize, a few copper coins and trinkets. 

“So,” Hawke said and began to shuffle the deck, at last turning her attention to me. “You wanted to ask us something?” I was glad she didn’t let me bring up the subject on my own.

“Excuse my manners, but I must be straight forward,” I said, my hands clammy. I wiped them against my thighs. Isabela’s brow curved in interest. “Dorian told me you might know something about--” I leaned forward and put my elbows on the table, lowering my voice, “elven magic.”

Isabela burst out in a laugh. “I think you have to be a little more specific than that, Hero.”

Hawke, however, did not laugh. She turned to Varric, folding her arms over her chest. “What have you told Dorian?” she asked, her lips a thin line. 

“Nothing, nothing!” Varric emptied his mug and carefully put it down. “... Nothing of importance,” he slowly added, his voice slightly apologetic. “I only mentioned Merrill… We are on the same side, after all!”

My gaze traveled to the bar where Dorian stood with Bull and his Chargers, chatting and having a good time. Bull’s hand had traveled down Dorian’s back. Could they be trusted? I already knew the answer. No one could be. 

“Tell us?” Bethany interjected, her voice calm and quiet. Not that anyone would have heard us. The sound of people talking and shouting and singing along with the minstrel Maryden’s songs drowned us out. 

I shifted where I sat. “Elven mirrors. Some kind of magical mirrors.” I studied their faces, trying to sense their emotions, but they betrayed nothing, not even confusion. “Is that something that sounds familiar?”

No one said anything for a short while, but then Hawke nodded. “Some.” Emotions flitted past her face. “I destroyed one. Elissa… You must know that those mirrors are pure evil, cursed by demons.” Bethany tried to chime in, but Isabela shook her head, silencing Bethany. Hawke, not seeing the interaction between her lover and sister, tapped her head. “And they twist the minds of those who pursue them.” Her eyes pierced mine. “But I doubt you are interested in a history lesson. I can only say that some _claims_ that there is a network of roads in a place beyond our one, where one can travel across Thedas, where such Eluvians exist.”

“ _Through_ the mirrors?” I asked, bewildered. Hawke responded with another nod. 

“So it is said, at least,” Bethany finally chimed in. “But we haven’t seen it ourselves.”

“Do you believe it possible?” I asked. 

Hawke turned her eyes down to the card deck in her hands. “I… I don’t know.”

“Kitten might be many things,” Isabela said with some heat in her voice. The heat was gratefully not directed toward me, but Hawke. “But a liar she isn’t. If Kitten says it is true, then it is.”

“She has been wrong many times before, Bela,” Hawke said. She was having trouble hiding her irritation and rubbed her neck in frustration. 

While I was not quite following their conversation, I felt bad for bringing up such an emotional subject. But there was one left who hadn’t said anything. My gaze found Varric, but he purposefully avoided mine. Instead, his eyes darted between the rest of his friends. 

“Nah, don’t ask me. I'll pass on this one,” he said. 

“It is all right,” I murmured. I stared at a spot of glistening beer spillage on the floor. While Hawke was not sure it wasn’t humbug, she maintained that Eluvians indeed did exist. And Isabela and Bethany believed in this Kitten’s -- Merrill’s? -- story, which corresponded with what Morrigan once told me.

The ancient road network must be true, then. I smashed a fist against the table, abruptly rising to my feet. This was a victory, a milestone in my search. Because my assumptions seemed to be correct. There was no other way for Morrigan to hide herself or her abomination from Leliana. 

“Thank you,” I said and immediately left them. I had to go to my room and figure out how to move forwards.

“Why do you think she wanted to know about them?” I heard Bethany say.

Varric replied, “Why don’t you ask her?”

“You'll not get a sensible response anyway. The Fade must have driven her mad,” Hawke said.

As I exited the tavern, the only thing I could think was that Hawke wasn’t wrong.

*

The morning the day before Leliana’s departure, she sought me out. I had seen her less and less, since she understandably prioritized her many preparations. That made me realize that I was going to miss her terribly. She was my anchor to the past, the past I no longer afforded to dream about. 

She entered my room without knocking, finding me at my desk with my nose in my journal. She reached out a beringed hand and gently took the book out of my hands and put a couple of letters before me. If she or her agents had read them, they had closed the letters together seamlessly. The crimson wax seals did not look broken. 

“Write to them, Ellie,” she said. “Do it before tonight, and I’ll make sure to send them before leaving.”

I skimmed through the sigils; King Alistair, Queen Anora, Teyrn Fergus. It gladdened me that Alistair had not abdicated, but I wondered if he and Anora were content with their lives and marriage. They were different as night and day. 

“I will thank Alistair for Amethyne’s pyre,” I said, more to myself than Leliana. I allowed myself to caress Anora’s letter with my thumb. It would do me good to regain contact with her as well. But as I looked at Fergus’ letter I hesitated. What was I to write to him? 

Leliana brushed my arm. “They only want to hear from you,” she assured me. “I know that they all have missed you terribly. Fergus the most.”

“He remarried.” My tongue tasted sour. Leliana had told me that he had gotten himself a new family. Somehow that did not sit right with me; it felt like a betrayal towards Oren and Oriana. But he had not seen them die. He had not seen Oriana battered and violated, nor had he seen Oren’s dark blood flowing over the floor. Were the planks still stained with it? If so, had they covered the memory of his death with a rug?

Leliana let out a breath of air before sending me a kind, almost maternal, smile. “After seven years, Elissa. He grieved. We all have had our shares of loss. That doesn’t mean one has to stop living.”

I gave a wave with my hand. Leliana knew loss, but I felt that I knew it more profoundly. I had given up my life, then reclaimed it, but not in whole. I was, however, not in the mood for arguing. It was no competition.

“I will write to them,” I said, slightly reluctant. Leliana nodded at that, pleased, and brought the cowl over her head. It shadowed her face. She then spun about, preparing to leave, but I grasped her warm hand and stopped her. “I am alone without you,” I admitted, my voice not more than a whisper. I was surprised by my sudden weakness. “Do you truly need to go to the Winter Palace?”

Her head tipped slightly to the side. “You know I do,” she said, not unkindly. “If you want, you can come with me. The offer still stands.”

Me, at a beautiful ball with treacheries and lies? Once upon a time, I would have been delighted; now, I only shook my head.

“Will you let me go?” she asked softly, giving our clasped hands a pointed glance. I did. I let go of her, almost imagining the skyscape to pulverize as I did. I had not left the Fade, not entirely. The echoing loneliness never disappeared, only subdued with old friends by my side. I felt abandoned. I did not know about loss. Loss had become a part of me. 

“Wait!” I called as she grasped the doorknob. She gave me an asking glance, and carefully I said, “I must ask. You and Josephine? For how long have you---” A hardened glare in her eyes made me trail off. 

I felt her gaze on me, weighing me down. “A couple of years,” she said dully after a long silence. “No one knows but Cassandra.” 

It was for the best. The lover to the Inquisition’s Spymaster, the former Left Hand of the Divine, lead a most dangerous life. 

“Me neither,” I said, intently looking at the letters in front of me. “But be more careful. Your love… shows.”

The door clicked shut behind her. What she thought at that moment, she never told me.

To leave the past behind is more difficult than one may imagine, so, I allowed myself to think about Leliana and roads never taken. 

Maybe it was loneliness that stained the ink when I responded to the letters. Perhaps it was regret. 

*

Suddenly I stood there, with Nathaniel by my side, and watched as the entourage prepared to leave through the great gates for the Winter Palace. 

“I do not envy them,” he said, leaning against the balustrade. 

I let out a short laugh. “Me neither. I feel bad for Cullen and Cassandra.” They both had looked awfully morose when they clambered into their carriages. 

I watched as mages and templars, peasants and nobles, guards and soldiers, still disconsolate and worn from the battle, waved as the carriage-dragging horses began to trot. I spotted Dagna in the crowd, short and stubby and looking -- if possible -- even more morose than both Cassandra and Cullen. I knew that she and Evelyn had become close friends, and I guessed that was the reason for the pouting lip. The pout, however, disappeared on a whim when the more-than-able scout named Lace Harding gave her a comforting embrace. I instinctively shied away at the sight. 

Dagna had the other day greeted me with a beaming smile and a big hug. If it had not been for Leliana reminding me, I would not even have remembered her from Orzammar. Once again, I had been made aware of my incompetence. Because it was not I who had helped Dagna fulfill her wishes to go to Kinloch to study magi. It was Wynne who orchestrated it all, and since Dagna now was a more than successful arcanist, Wynne must have done it well. Not that I could have done much, I thought as Lace and Dagna lumbered through the mass to leave the courtyard. I was dead by the time Dagna was allowed to go to the Circle, and dead men could not help young girls fulfill their dreams. It was an unnecessary thing to dwell about. 

By the time the Inquisition entourage was nothing more than a small dot climbing the mountain roads, Nathaniel turned to me. 

“What is on your mind?” he asked, and blew on a dark tendril of hair that dangled across his face. 

I gave the shrinking dot another glance, before meeting his eyes. This was the time to confess my mistakes, my sins. I had come to a dead-end in my studies, and I could not continue my research on my own. How come I hesitated? We were as alone as we could be. 

He smiled wanly at my silence. “You can tell me,” he prodded. “I can see that there is something. You are biting your tongue,” he added somewhat playfully. I could see how much he tried to mend what was broken between us. I tried, too, but maybe some things never were made to be mended. 

I stopped biting the tip of my tongue, nearly letting out a frustrating groan. “Where am I to begin?” 

He turned from me to look at the mountaintops. A bird of prey circled in the distance. It made me shudder; I never felt safe from Morrigan. My thumb scratched where the ring she gifted me had burned my skin. What if she somehow had watched me all the time, smirking, knowing she held the upper hand? Or was it only my paranoia thinking?

“I advise that you start at the beginning,” he said and unhooked his Warden Bottle from his belt, opening it. A cool breeze wafted the sharp smell of alcohol toward me. “We have time.” He took a deep drink before holding the bottle out to me. 

I accepted it. I needed some courage, liquid-based or not. First when the alcohol burned my throat, I no longer hesitated. I began to tell him about Morrigan, about the ritual she had performed. I told him about Alistair’s darkest secret, a secret that could rouse another Civil War. I told him about Eluvians.

I told Nathaniel it all, and I did not spare a word.


	12. Chapter 12

When I ended my confession, Nathaniel wordlessly stared at me. The burgeoning winds toyed with his hair, but his face was still as stone. 

“Will you help me?” I rasped, my mouth suddenly dry. Had I misjudged him? Was he not to help me? Or worse -- was he to tell others about my mistakes, my secrets?

Nathaniel left me hanging in the lands of unknowing. He opened his hands, then pressed them together, only to open them again. It was evident that he did not know what to say, and I was unable to help him. His fingertips were reddish from the chill air, and I gave mine a glance as well. They were no better. 

“It is a lot to take in,” he finally admitted. While it was not the words I wanted to hear, it was better than nothing. “Are you certain she is guilty of all you claim?”

“I am the proof of it, am I not? You know as well as I, that I should be but burned bones.” I did not care to hide my bitterness. 

“Mmh.” Once again, he seemed to be at a loss of words. He wrung his hands, but soon as he realized what he was doing, he stopped, straightening his back. “Does anybody else know of what you told me?” 

“I mentioned a little of it to Stroud,” I answered without a second thought, remembering our short conversation in the gall-colored Fade. “And Alistair knows of the ritual, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed. “What about Bethany? Have you or Stroud--”

I interrupted him. “No. Neither of us has told her.” I could not help but give a frustrated noise. “If you do not wish to help me, I would like you to say so now.”

At that, he pointed at the faraway green rift that discolored the sky, inhaling a deep breath. “The world is ending, Elissa. The Calling is pestering me, assumingly you, and all our brothers and sisters.” I nodded lightly. He was correct. The Calling lullabied me every night, singing me into nightmare-filled sleep. I had on more than one occasion nearly slid Morrigan’s ring back onto my finger, hoping to be free from the sinister voices. “We have another archdemon on the loose, and a mad darkspawn magister who wants to crush us all,” he continued, his voice trailing off.

I did not want to hear more. It was a no, and there was nothing I would do to change his mind. I made due to leave, disappointment knotting my stomach. I feared that if I were to speak, I’d begin to weep. 

“Hey.” He put a hand on my shoulder, halting my steps. “Did I say I was not going to help you?” A smile broke through his features. He gently turned me around so that I faced him, and he grasped my cold hands with his. “I know next to nothing about magic, but I will do everything I can to help you. It is the least I can do. Urthemiel is my responsibility, too.” He released my hands and, slowly, went to caress my cheek. I turned away my face, unwilling to show him my warm tears. I had not imagined it would be such a relief to share my burdens. The chattering throng below us disbanded as the people slowly returned to their chores. I wished I was one of them. Insanely enough, I missed having responsibilities that did not revolve around apocalypses. 

“Thank you.”

He proposed that we were to go inside, now that the clouds had turned darker. As we were striding to the doors, the wind quickly gathering momentum, he bluntly asked me the same thing I daily asked myself.

“Will you be able to take Morrigan and her child’s life?” He shook his head, his dark eyes revealing his doubts. “I am not sure I would.”

So I gave him the answer I daily had to tell myself, wondering if my eyes revealed my own doubts. “It is my duty." I slowed my pace, deciding to blame what could be interpreted as doubt on something else than my weak mind. "Although, I'm quite worried about my shape, or lack thereof. The last time I used a sword was when I killed the archdemon.”

As he opened the door, I saw another smile break through, one which softened the sharp edges of his face. “Meet me tomorrow morning. Let me and a couple of my Wardens amend that.” 

*

Every morning thereafter, before the sun dawned, I sparred with my Warden brethren, Nathaniel, Bethany, and an elven mage named Velanna. Nathaniel had called them _his_ Wardens, and while they treated me with the utmost respect, it was clear. I was naught more than an honorary Commander to them, at best a second-in-command.

  
When Nathaniel and I did not spend time dulling our swords on the training grounds, we tried to find leads on how to localize Morrigan. Bethany had mentioned that Merrill had discovered her Eluvian in the Brecilian Forest right before the war. Was it possible that Morrigan found another Eluvian thereabout? 

Nathaniel and I, however, soon reached the conclusion that we were stuck. There were too many unanswered questions, and nothing we hypothesized mattered. Eluvians were probably scattered all over Thedas, and it was futile for us to even try to find them. 

While it felt good for me to have someone to confide in, I was getting frustrated. How was one to find a person who didn’t want to be? My only outlet for that frustration was our sparring sessions.

Velanna and Bethany showed to be competent mages, and it was easy to see why Nathaniel wanted me to practice with them. It was the only way for me to prepare to fight Morrigan if it came to that. While the sword Nathaniel had gifted me was of the finest materials I’d ever seen, my body was weakened. It is an understatement to say that Bethany and Velanna kept winning. The sparring sessions soon turned from being an outlet to be another source of frustration.

After a few weeks with only minor improvements from my side, I was on the verge of giving up. “This is not going to work,” I told Nathaniel as we left the sparring ground, our faces shiny with sweat. I thrust my helmet to the ground, an act which received curious glances from my two opponents, who were about to return to their barracks. “I am not strong enough,” I continued, lowering my voice. He was quiet as he picked up the helmet from the ground, brushed it off, and handed it to me as if I was a little child. I wonder where his patience stemmed. Surely, not his father. 

“We have time,” he said in such a calm manner I almost wanted to smack him. He wiped away some sweat from his brow, for a slight second revealing his own fatigue. The sight immediately pacified my annoyance. While he would never admit it, the main reason he helped me was out of shame for the deeds made by Rendon. Nathaniel deserved my respect and gratitude. “Go and freshen up,” he went on. “I’ll meet you later in the library. I have to do some research of my own.”

That piqued my interest. “About what?”

He patted my back. “Nothing you need to worry about, Ellie.” He must have seen my disbelief, because he added, “I promise.” 

We parted ways. When I at long last entered my quarter, I saw that a servant already had filled me a basin with cold water. I silently blessed said servant before doffing my armor and clothes, longing to wash the grime and sourness from my sore body. I avoided looking at my own flesh, especially the area on my chest where the archdemon had crushed me. The skin there was a foreign landscape I didn’t bother to get to know, a rugged terrain, puckery and silky and purple. As I rinsed my face, I stopped to stare at the rippling water. I allowed myself to imagine myself drowning in it, visualizing my lifeless body floating downstream, before gathering my senses. I could not give up. There was too much that stood at stake.

The next morning I sparred as if my life depended on it. I forced myself to remember why I was dragged back to this earth. After a week, Bethany for the first time yielded. After another I bested Velanna.

Nathaniel shared a long look with me after Velanna’s back hit the ground, nodding appreciatively. Maybe I stood a chance, after all.

*

One evening a young messenger approached me. He could not have been more than eleven summers, and while his face was clean, he had crescents of dirt beneath his fingernails. 

“Ma’am?” he said nervously. I swallowed a baffled laugh. I had been called a lot in my days; lady, Warden, and traitor being a few of them, but ‘ma’am’ would take me some time to get used to.

“Yes?” 

“I have a letter for you,” he said, and solemnly passed it to me. I gave the sigil a brief look, and felt my brows rise in surprise. It was from Ser Cauthrien. What could she possibly want with me? “I have also been informed to tell you that an urgent meeting is held in the war room. You have been asked to join them.”

“I have?” I said in disbelief. He nodded, and an excited shiver went down my spine at the thought of being included. The boy in front of me, however, turned red and shrugged at my question. This was something he had not anticipated or rehearsed. “Thank you,” I quickly added, not wanting him to feel embarrassed. “I will go there immediately.”

I tucked Cauthrien’s letter into my chest pocket and hurried through Skyhold, hoping I had not missed the meeting. Somehow the corridors had begun to make sense to me, and it did not take me long before I flung open the doors to the war room.  
“Elissa.” Nathaniel, clad in simple clothes, rose from a chair to greet me. “I am glad you could come.” 

“Is everyone gathered?” That was Grand Enchanter Fiona. Nathaniel and I shared a glance. He had told me that Fiona once had been a Warden, until she no longer wasn’t. How she was cleansed from having defiled blood was, supposedly, a mystery unsolved by even the First Warden. Apparently, Nathaniel said, Fiona didn’t know either. 

During my stay at Skyhold, I had only conversed with her a few times. Something with her did not sit right with me, and she likewise avoided me. Perhaps I was jealous of her freedom from the Order, and perhaps she thought I was more of a Warden than she ever was. In hindsight, I admit, that it was naught but naive, wishful thinking from my side. That was not the reason why she could not look into my eyes.

Hawke took a look around the room, giving me a nod as our gazes met. “Yup. Think so.”

“What was it you wanted to tell us?” Rylen asked gruffly, his tone revealing his frustration. He was a Knight-Captain, and the highest-ranked Templar now that Cullen wasn’t here. He and Fiona avoided each other even more than she and I did. It made me wonder why all of us were cramped together in this suddenly small room.

I looked up at Rylen, for the shortest of moments thinking he was talking to me. Instead, before I had the time to open my mouth, a clear voice answered him. I had not noticed the woman up until the point she announced herself. From that, I figured she could be no other than one of Leliana’s agents.

“Sister Nightingale has asked me to inform you of the current situation,” she began. “She and the Inquisitor are traveling back to Skyhold as we speak, but since you all have a certain amount of influence, she wanted you to know some of what has perspired.” She paused, and Rylen let out a small grunt. 

“Well?”

“The Herald managed to stop an assassination on the Empress, meaning the Inquisition now has the support of Orlais.” She was interrupted by a couple of celebratory noises and held up a gloved hand to silence them. “That is not all. The Empress has now lent us a helping hand in the form of her own Advisor of the Occult.”

“Wait,” Fiona chimed in, a hand touching her forehead. Her brows were knitted in confusion. “I thought Madame de Fer was her advisor?”

The agent spread her hands, hesitating. “In official matters, yes.” 

“Who is it?” Fiona drummed a finger against her chin, thinking. 

The Agent shook her head. “I am not yet aware of the person’s name.”

“Let me guess,” Hawke said. “Vivienne took the news so badly that we needed a meeting?” Mirth shone in her eyes. 

“Sister Nightingale wants to avoid unnecessary conflicts,” the agent continued coolly, ignoring Hawke’s question. “To quote her last line in the message, ‘not only the Inquisition depends on the help from Ferelden and Orlais, but Thedas.’ She wanted me to remind you of that.”

Hawke raised a forefinger up the air. “Consider me reminded,” she said lightly, but the mirth had vanished from her eyes. Varric had told me some of what had transpired in Kirkwall, including the reason behind why she in fact was dubbed Champion. Hawke understood, maybe more than the rest of us, how important it was that we kept our peace between both nations and factions. 

Fiona and Rylen gave one another a curt nod, and Nathaniel and I agreed in unison. The Agent, seemingly content with that, excused herself and went off. 

As I watched her leave, my fingers tingled. It was startling, slightly reminding me of Morrigan’s ring. I could not quite put a finger on it, but the air oozed something. 

“I heard Bethany has made a habit of kicking your ass,” Hawke said to me, interrupting my thoughts. 

I willed myself to direct my gaze toward Hawke instead of the Agent’s ghost. “You taught her well,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips. “Although she has been on a losing streak, lately.”

Hawke gave a humming sound, the edges of her eyes crinkling into a smile. “Is that a challenge?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

“What do I win?”

“Should you not ask what you lose?”

Her head fell back in a laugh. She placed a palm over her heart. “That I already know. My honor.” Shaking her head, she went on. “If I win, you must buy me a drink.”

“And if I win, you must _not_ buy me a drink.” I reached out a hand to her. She grasped it. 

“Oh, I can live with that,” she agreed.

“Tomorrow morning?” I asked.

“Before dawn,” Hawke added and firmly shook my hand. “Beth said that was when you practiced.” She regarded me for a moment, and pulled me closer. Her voice turned to a hushed whisper, and I smelled the mint of her breath. “I know something is up, my friend. All the talk of ancient magic, and now you spar with my sister and another mage. If you ever need my help --”

I let go of her hand. “I appreciate your offer, but I assure you I only try to keep up. It has been a while, as you well know.” I averted my eyes and patted at my chest where I put Ser Cauthrien’s letter. The paper crinkled unhappily. “If you excuse me, I have to go and respond to an urgent message.” I gave an apologetic gesture, one which wasn’t entirely false in nature. She had called me a friend, and I needed as many as I could. 

Hawke shrugged and prepared to leave. She lingered by the door, looking back at me over her shoulder. “See you at the tavern later?”

“Maybe,” I said, knowing I would not go there that night. I watched her leave, her gait stiffer than that of Isabela’s, and I turned to Nathaniel. “Walk with me? I need to speak with you.”

“All right,” he said and offered me his arm. I deftly placed my hand on his arm and felt his muscles move beneath the fabric separating our skin. It was quite funny how we both had let go of our wealth and names, but still, some habits were so hardly ingrained in us. For a short breath, it felt as if Rendon’s betrayal never had occurred; as if we both were adolescents walking the castle gardens, talking about our grand plans and bright futures. 

“We should not have asked Bethany to spar with me,” I said quietly, afraid that the stone walls were to echo my words. “She cannot be trusted.”

“Because she told Hawke?” Nathaniel’s muscles tightened beneath my fingers. “I fear it is my fault, Elissa. I never explicitly told her not to tell anyone.” He spread his fingers. “And it is rare she does not confide in Hawke. But she obeys when I ask her to.” He suddenly smiled. “At least from what I know.” He cleared his throat. “Sparring is neither a crime nor out of place. This is war, and all people here understand that the Hero of Ferelden wants to keep up.”

I pressed my jaws together before letting out a breath. Perhaps I was overreacting, but Hawke’s suspicion, good-willed or not, had affected me. But setting my flustering emotions aside, I had to admit that Nathaniel had a point. There was no one but Hawke that had any reason to believe something was up. “It is probably just my nerves,” I gave in just as we stopped outside my room. I looked up at him. “How is your own research going?” I asked.

“I am close to an answer.” He looked past me. “And when I know the truth, I have a decision to make. A decision that can change a man’s life. It will not be easy.” 

I grabbed his sleeve. “It rarely is. Remember, you are not alone. I am here for you.”

He nodded gravely. “Which I am infinitely thankful for.” He jerked his chin towards the door. “Now, go and respond to your letter, Ellie. I am afraid I must see to my duties. Sigrun has threatened to return to the Deep Roads if I do not find anything useful for her to do.”

“I shall.” I pressed down the handle and the door clicked open, yet none of us made a move. We looked into each other's eyes, hesitating. Did he not trust me? Did I not trust him? It seemed as if we had an ocean filled with uncertainty and unsaid words between us. I had spared him his life, and he was to help me take another’s in turn. It was naught more than a debt he tried to pay. It was foolish of me to pretend that we were the friends we once had been. We might have forgiven, but not forgotten. 

He sent me a quick smile and spun about, striding down the hallway, leaving me wishing I could read his mind. 

I steadied myself, forcing myself to focus on what I had to do next. I entered my draughty room, closed the door behind me, and placed myself on the cold floor, nestling the wall. The fireplace crackled warmly. I shuffled closer to it, trying to get some light. My fingers trembled ever so slightly as I tore the letter open. Had Cauthrien written to me to say that Alistair and Anora been the target for a coup, too? Since their marriage never would result in any heirs, it was a fear both Arl Eamon and I had shared.

_To the Warden-Commander of Ferelden,_

_Elissa Cousland,_

_Savior of Ferelden, Hero of the Fifth Blight, and Champion of Redcliffe._

_I sit down to write to you the same evening the revered King and Queen, blessed be their names, told me you have resurrected from the dead. It was the most joyous news, although it awakened old memories of shame._

_Our language has no words to describe my deep regret. My honor is forever stained with my past deeds. For that, I beg your forgiveness, but without expecting anything in return. What I did was unacceptable._

_It is, however, not on my behalf I write. I am merely helping a friend we have in common, one who is too stubborn to ask a_ real _scribe._

_I promised to write down what he had to say word-by-word, so here it follows:_

_Hey there, Elissa._

_It’s Oghren. I am glad to hear you’re alive and well. Don’t take this wrong, but your death was the best thing that could have happened to me. (More so now, when you‘re up and walking again.)_

_I grieved you, let me tell you that. But your death made me remember our talk. Do you remember the night outside the barn, when you emptied one of my flasks? That one. Anyway, I stopped taking to the bottle and Alistair gave me a place in the army. Said he saw my potential, and since I never again want to step underground, I grabbed that chance. Let me tell you, it is hard to find good armor my size. This Fereldan army ain’t built for us dwarves. Alistair bought a few sets from Orzammar for me. It was nice. I owe him a lot._

_With help from Cauthrien, I advanced pretty quickly, if I may say so myself. Isn’t much to do now when it ain’t war, though. I hope Orlais attacks us soon (Cauthrien says I shouldn’t write that)._

_I have been in charge of a small company in the last few years, killing some darkspawn that wanders to the surface. It’s all right. Not as fun without you there._

_I married Felsi. Have a small house, now. Two children. I almost named my firstborn after you, but Felsi didn't like your name. The child was too ugly for it, anyway. No one told me they looked like red, flakey raisins when out of the womb. She’s sweet now, though. Full of spirits, and I don’t mean the bottled kind. The other one's a boy. He is not like me. I'm proud of him._

_Hope to meet you soon._

_Your friend, Oghren._

I blinked hard as I flattened out the letter, trying to get rid of the creases and folds. I was glad for his sake. When I thought about it, I didn’t think I ever had seen him sober. But, him finding happiness as a family man was not the sole reason for my peace of mind. No, the other reason was purely selfish. 

Morrigan had abandoned me in my final hour of need; Leliana had found love in Josephine; Fergus had moved on with a new family. In all this time, I’d believed only Wynne hadn’t abandoned me. 

But this letter was evidence that my sorry life had meant something for someone else. I just never would have thought that person to be Oghren.


	13. Chapter 13

My fingers pressed tighter around the hilt. It was dark, and the muddy ground before me only visible in the light from a few dangling lanterns. The wind whispered in my one ear, the Calling in the other. The past night had been sleepless, which seemed to give the Calling momentum.

I stared at the glistening soil, intent on hushing all disturbing sounds. I steadied my feet and pressed them harder into the loose ground. The mud rose over my grime-stained boots.

Trying to ignore the small crowd that cheered us on, I raised my gaze, fixing it on Hawke. Isabela strode forward to her, pressing her lips against hers hard. “You got this, my dear,” I heard Isabela say, her voice smooth as golden honey. Hawke’s eyes met mine.

“I’m not so sure about that, ‘Bela,” Hawke replied lightly. “She did kill an archdemon, after all.”

“She killed a god, sister!” Bethany called out, sending me an encouraging look. 

Hawke laughed. “And whose side are you on? Well, let’s see if she can kill me.” She made a sweeping gesture with one of her hands. “Gods are predictable. I am not.”

Isabela patted Hawke’s cheek. “If that’s what you tell yourself.”

“Come now, Rivaini,” Varric said tiredly. “Let them begin, so we can return to our divine beds.”

I gave him a quick look. Varric looked just as tired as he sounded, and while Isabela went to stand next to him, he rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand. Hawke said that he’d complained about the early hour. I could not blame him, being dog-weary myself. My gaze slid over to Nathaniel and Velanna. A wind caught a hanging lantern, and for a short moment, its orange light flickered over their faces. They indulged in what seemed to be a hushed conversation. 

Nathaniel must have sensed my gaze because his ashen eyes met mine and immediately hardened. I was taken aback, and my mind almost drowned out in the hisses of darkspawn. Then, he smiled kindly, leaving me in a state of confusion. “You got this, Elissa,” he said. “Show her.”

I returned his smile because that was when I saw Velanna’s visage. She looked calm, gentle, even. I had never seen her look like that. He and Velanna had not spoken ill about me, I concluded, and his eyes had not hardened. No, they simply had returned to their neutral state, because they had been soft as wool when he looked at _her_. 

I suppose I should have been glad for him to have had the luck to find happiness in a world like this. Instead, I had this prickling sensation. I tightened and untightened my grip around my sheathed sword, trying to get rid of it. I had told him my biggest shame; and yet, he had told me nearly nothing about himself. It was not that I was asking him to share his love life with me, but rather; was he afraid in the Siege of Vigil’s Keep? Did he miss Delilah? And, more importantly, what secret matter was it he looked into on his own?

“Are you ready?” Hawke called, stretching her neck from side to side. 

“Um, yes,” I replied, praying to the Maker that my voice wasn’t as squeaky as I imagined it to be. The last time I sparred with a crowd was right before the Battle of Ostagar, when my brothers and sisters had wanted to see what the new recruits had seemed like. Later, on the road, Alistair, Zevran, and Sten always helped me be in shape. Come to think of it, even Leliana and Wynne had taken some pleasure in giving me a few bruises from time to time. At least Wynne had the ability to patch me up afterward. But not once had there been a crowd like this one to watch me compete. 

Did my fingers tremble as Hawke grasped her sword? No, they did not. But my heart palpitated like it was a young bird finding its wings. 

I pulled my sword out of its sheath, and Hawke lunged at me, sprinting the short distance between us. My arms resembled sticks compared to hers, and her armor was lighter than mine. She had an advantage, one which I somehow had to outmaneuver.

I parred her blow, and our swords sang as they collided. No longer did I have to shut out the outside noises; of Nathaniel cheering me on, of Isabela heartily jeering me. Not even the soft winds, nor the dark voices of the Calling. 

Only this existed; Hawke and mine’s short breaths, the wet sound of our feet getting sucked in the mud, the rattling of our armor, our clashes. 

Hawke retreated a few paces, and I snuck the opportunity to inhale a deep breath. The chill morning air cleared out my nostrils, and I remembered the airlessness of the Fade. How the living took breathing for granted!

I jabbed out my sword, aiming for the side of her chest. She jumped back and managed to avoid the hit from my sword’s flat side. 

The move had been bold from my side, almost stupidly so, since I put myself in a vulnerable position. Duncan would undoubtedly have slapped the back of my head if he had seen it. But, in doing so, I had seen something Hawke hadn’t. There was a damp spot in the ground a few paces behind her, barely visible in the poor light, that had been scarred by wheels and trampled deep by horses. If I only managed to get her there, her feet would sink. . . 

“Are you giving up?” Hawke asked, panting. I peeked at her. Her brow was glistening, her cheeks flushed, her mouth set, but her eyes were burning with intense joy. I’d be honored to fight by her side. 

Her sword clanked into my shield, making my arm vibrate. “No,” I rasped, taking another step forward, forcing her to retreat further. Her question was enough to break my concentration.

She took another swing at me, and my armor thundered in a warning. The warning came too late, however, since she had hit me. I nearly bit my tongue as a dull pain shot up the length of my thigh. The impact of Hawke’s blade had with all certainty dented my new armor. 

“What about now?” she asked. I shook my head, trying to regain my muddled senses. I took a stumbling step back and felt a smile creep onto my face. 

“Are you?” I wondered, lowering my shield. 

“Wha--” She looked down to her feet, then back at me, only to return to her feet. Her bright laughter traveled the courtyard. “I think I must!” She tried to jerk her feet free without any luck. 

I stretched out my hand to her, and she grasped it. The mud gave an unhappy, sucking sound as she finally was wedged free. 

“I felt I was slipping,” she admitted to me, her face covered in dark brown splatter, “but that I didn’t anticipate.”

“In all honesty,” I said, tasting dirt on my tongue, “you had the upper-hand.” It was difficult not to feel embarrassed. “Let us call it a tie.”

Hawke sheathed her sword and wiped away some muck from around her mouth, the twisting of her lips revealing she also felt the taste of dirt. “No way.” She flashed a wide grin, and I saw a stain of dirt between her teeth. “But I would still appreciate that drink.” 

Varric groaned theatrically. “About time, you two!” He stretched his arms out. “I’ll see you later. Bianca’s waiting for me.” 

The rest of us decided to split up too, all wanting to return to sleep. Even my own eyes began to feel heavy when both the Calling and the rush of adrenaline had vanished from my body, leaving me knowing that I was about to get a bruise or two. 

“I am proud of you,” Nathaniel said. “But remember, we still got time to practice. I noticed a couple of things you need to work on.”

I let out a sigh. Once again we spoke of time; the invisible force that still was so strange to me. “You know what, Nathaniel? I think time, suddenly, is all I got.”

*

None of us had the time to creep in under our blankets before the loud sound of a blaring horn traveled through the air. I heard it just as I was to sneak into the fortress through the kitchen door, and I immediately choked on a breath, freezing to my place.

One time it sounded, then another, and another . . . I pricked my ears up, not daring to breathe, but there never came a fourth blare. If the guard hadn’t been shot down, it meant that it was not a futile warning about an incoming attack. No, three blares and it meant triumph, and it could only mean one thing: the hero had come home!

The kitchen door in front of me flew open and servants all ages scurried through, hoping to get a good view of the arriving Inquisitor. The dog I once had greeted ran past me, almost knocking me over, in the excited tumult.

I, sweaty, exhausted, and covered with mud, could not be worse than them. My heart beated ferociously at the thought of meeting Leliana again. I had missed her terribly. With that said, I joined the newly awakened people in the throng, thankful that my armor protected me against sharp elbows and heels. We made our way towards the gates, but the servants in Skyhold had not been the only ones who wanted to see the Herald return. The courtyard was already packed, and on the balconies nobles stood and gazed over us, donned in their robes. 

The gates slowly opened and I had to balance on my toes to get a glimpse of Evelyn riding in. She waved as always to the people who cried out their joy over her return, but her cheeks were white. The horse she rode on swayed as they made their way forward, waiting for the crowd to make room. Had they been traveling all night? There was no other explanation for their early return. The sun had barely reached over the mountain tops. 

I struggled my way through the clamoring throng, hoping to find Leliana’s carriage. While I did not see it, I recognized the one Cassandra and Cullen had left in. 

“Cassandra!” I called out as I haltingly approached it, trying to keep up with its speed. “Cullen?” My voice was drowned out in the increasing hubbub. 

I bit my lip and tried to get closer. “Cassandra!” Pressing my way forward, I finally managed to knock on it. Cassandra peeked out, glaring at the audacity, before seeing who I was.

Suddenly, a boy’s voice whispered in my ear, startling me. “ _Sometimes the hunter becomes the hunted. The Spirit of Faith asks you to be cautious."_

I gasped, looking wildly about me, but I saw no boy close enough me.

Cassandra’s brow was furrowed by the time I regained eye contact with her. Her lips moved, but her carriage had pressed forward, leaving me behind.

“I can’t hear you!” I called out, stuck in the throng. 

“Where Bethany took you!” she repeated. “Go there!”

Back to the kitchen entrance it was, then. I shivered as I remembered the boyish voice, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling it had awakened in me. The Calling surely had its ways to get under one's skin. 

It took me longer than I’d like to admit to get back to where I first had stood when the horn had sounded, but there Leliana’s ride was. When I saw her climb out of the carriage, however, the smile I had been having disappeared on a whim. Her lips were pressed tight, her eyes sick with worry. I quickened my pace. My intuition had been correct. 

“What has happened?” I asked. The horses here looked just as fatigued as Evelyn’s mount had, their skin next to steaming in the humid morning air. Leliana did not respond nor send me as much as a glance, but instead held out a firm, helping hand to Josephine. 

“You do not have to dote on me so,” Josephine said, the weakest of smiles curling her lips. “I am fine.” She clambered down the carriage steps on her own as if making a point. Leliana’s abandoned hand curled into a fist. 

Josephine looked at me, probably in hope of distracting Leliana. “And what have you been up to?” she asked, regarding the state of my armor. 

“What has happened?” I asked more softly, trying to comprehend the situation. Josephine sighed. 

“Josie was attacked,” Leliana said, her voice quivering with fury. “But not to worry. I have already taken care of the situation.”

“I am fine,” Josephine repeated, her voice eerily calm. But why did she limp, then?

“You were stabbed and poisoned.” Leliana cradled an arm around Josephine’s waist, supporting her as Josephine nearly faltered. “Of course you aren’t fine.”

“Do not blame yourself.” Josephine grabbed Leliana’s hand. “You could not see this coming.”

A dark shadow fell over Leliana’s face. “There you are wrong, _mon amour_ ,” she whispered. “It is my responsibility to know and prevent incidents like these from happening.” Leliana put her forehead against Josephine’s. “My job is to protect _you_.”

Leliana began to lead Josephine toward the door. “Please, Leli,” Josephine begged quietly. “Let me walk on my own. I will not say it again. I am _fine_.”

Reluctantly, Leliana let go of Josephine, and her eyes met mine. She looked defeated; her shoulders slumped, and the anger had burned out in her eyes, leaving only wet ashes on her cheeks. 

I gestured helplessly with my hands. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked. “Anything.” 

Josephine shook her head ever so slowly. “No, but I thank you for your offer. I only need to rest.” She hesitated, her gaze flitting between Leliana and I. “Perhaps I should leave you two alone.”

“There is no need,“ I said. Had not Leliana told Josephine that I knew they were companions? I tried to smile. “She is supposed to be with you, now.”

Leliana opened her mouth, but I interrupted her, willing to be of help. “I will go to the kitchen and ask them to send a tray to your room,” I said to Josephine. I searched for a delicate way of putting things while turning to Leliana. “The antidote you gave her…” I felt my face twist into a grimace, and I was infinitely glad that the temporarily deafened coachman was the only witness to my lack of discretion, “is there anything she cannot or should not eat?”

Leliana had paled. “It was not my antidote, Ellie. I don’t know.”

“‘Twas mine,” a voice said behind me. I felt the color drain from my own face. “And since ’tis several hours ago she was given the antidote, anything should be fine.”

I wanted to scream, ‘Nathaniel, Nathaniel, Nathaniel’. I wanted to scream his name until my tongue bled. I wanted to see him come running to my aid. 

Never have I ever wanted to scream as much as I wanted at that moment. But my throat had swelled, and I gasped for air.  
Josephine leaned against one of the carriage’s large, wooden wheels. “We were meaning to tell you,” she said faintly, when Leliana for once didn’t seem to find any words. 

“Morrigan is the Empress’ Arcane Advisor,” Leliana added, avoiding my dimming gaze. She reached out a hand to me, but I shied away from her deceitful touch. “I promise you I didn’t know.”

How had Leliana not known? I felt the blood boil in my veins. Was she lying to me? 

“I am glad to see you are well, Warden,” the treacherous voice behind me continued. How was this possible? How? _How_? The scream finally clawed its way out of my throat, making blood and spit rain from my gape. 

The next thing I knew, Leliana held my arms in a firm grip around my back. I had not realized that I had brought up my sword until it jangled down the ground.

My head spun and I collapsed to the ground, staring at the feet of the woman who had caused me my misery, on the verge of retching. I could swear she was laughing at my reaction, mocking me, but never had anything been so quiet.

I wanted to kill her. More than I ever had wanted to kill Rendon or Loghain. It was a primal need, an instinct, more important to me than food and water. 

“Remember what I asked of you,” Leliana whispered in my ear as I tried to wrench myself free from her grip. “The fate of Thedas.”

“You do not know what you are talking about,” I wheezed between my clamped teeth. “You do not know anything,” I repeated, louder. It felt as if the veins on my neck were about to burst.

“Look at me,” the silky voice asked. I did not. My sword was only a few finger-lengths from my hand. I could almost grasp it . . . Leliana’s grip tightened. 

“This is not right,” I said. Tears trailed down my cheeks and collided with the ground. “None of you know what you are doing.”

I felt a cold hand against my chin. I pressed my eyes shut, trying to stop the tears from flowing. This was only another bad dream; I had had so many of them.

My face was tilted up. “Look at me, Warden,” she demanded again. 

I should have told Leliana of what she had done. Of the monster she had given birth to. If I had, she would already be dead.

The secrecy that led to this failure was caused by me, and me alone. 

“Mother,” a young child said. “What is happening? Who is she?”

I opened my eyes at that, and there she was before me; the snake that had manipulated me into giving her the whole world. Just as alluring as she had been then. Whey-skinned and with hair black as a raven's wing. Yes, there she was, her gaze directed at a young boy.

A young boy who had the face of Alistair.

And I saw her lips move as she replied to this boy; this boy who looked so utterly _normal_ ; this boy who looked like one of my dearest friends. 

“Nothing, my dear. Go inside with Josephine. Leliana and I will come to join you soon.” 

My heart shattered, and all turned to black.


	14. Chapter 14

I was perpetually trapped. Trapped, trapped, trapped.

That was what I thought of while I buried my face into my pillow, howling my throat raw.

It was nothing new to me, being trapped. For as long as I remembered I’d been a prisoner of some kind. Even long before the Fade. If invisible shackles left scar tissue, my wrists would be glowing red. Firstly, I had been a prisoner of societal standards. Those shackles would have glimmered golden, but been shackles nonetheless. The second shackles had glistened in crimson, and had run in my beating veins. 

And here I now was, dazed with drugs from Leliana’s silver rings. Trapped. Never before had the small size of my room bothered me, but it seemed to shrink with every beat of my heart.

“You did not heed its warning.”

The voice startled me, instantly making me choke on my scream. I jumped out of the bed, only to fall on the floor as my legs buckled beneath my slackened body. I clamped my jaw, willing myself to crawl away from the voice. I gave a glance over my shoulder, and a cold ripple went through my flesh. A boy -- or a young man, it was hard to tell -- sat cross-legged on my bed. He looked coolly at me under the wide brim of his hat, his eyes a foggy blue. 

As soon as I reached my wall, I pressed myself against it, putting my palms against the stone, contemplating clawing myself out. 

“It must have been you,” I stammered as I gave him another glance. “It must have been you who whispered in the courtyard.”

“It was,” he said, nodding.

I tried to calm my beating heart. I abandoned the idea of digging a hole in the wall and flipped around so I sat on the floor. Through swollen eyes, I managed to take a closer look on him. He did look harmless, although looks rarely could be trusted. “Who are you?”

“Cole, they call me.” He bent his head ever so slightly. “Evelyn has introduced us, but you don’t remember. Only those who need to know me do.”

I blinked. “We have met?”

Another nod.

“I surely would have remembered you.”

“No. It was not your time.” He directed his face to the slits, the grey light of day illuminating his pale face. “The poisoned words of others might have made me untrustworthy in your eyes. There are many who don’t like me.” He fixed his gaze on me. His voice had a sang of sadness to it. “I only want to help. Rhys said I was to help you.” 

My mind spun. “Rhys? Wynne’s son?” I regarded him warily. “How did you know him?”

“You are in pain.” Suddenly, his face was close to mine, his cold fingers touching my clammy scalp. I gasped, but there was no way for me to go. “You crave death to feel alive. I was like you, once. I wanted darkness. Revenge.” His breath smelled of the stale Fade. “But revenge malforms the heart. Revenge is not good.”

“You are wrong,” I breathed. “I do not crave death. It is not about revenge.”

He toyed with a curl of my hair. “You lie. I don’t like lies.”

“I need to fix my mistakes. I must kill the one I… I loved.” I swallowed hard. “You can see what I mean? You can see  _ who  _ I mean?”

“It’s you who can’t see clearly.” Cole shook his head, pity dimming his eyes. “Those who trust their swords are fools, but it’s those who believe in their own realities that are dangerous.” 

I wetted my lips. “I do not understand.”

“I can kill those who hurt,” he said after a small pause. “I can kill to protect, to help. I can ease the pain of bleeding souls.”

I leaned forward, our noses almost touching. “Then help me kill Morrigan and her child. You know what that child truly is.”

Cole let go of my hair. I blinked, and he was back on the bed. “The Spirit of Faith told me about you. I did not believe you to be blind.”

“She told you?” I sucked in a breath, finally understanding. “You are also a spirit.” It was a statement, not a question. He nodded nonetheless. 

A surge of longing dragged me up onto my wobbly legs, my head swimming. I swayed to the bed, crashing down next to him, my sudden rush of strength ailing. “Can you make me meet the Spirit of Faith again? I need her. I need to thank her.”

“No,” Cole said matter-of-factly. “It is not in my power.”

“Oh.” Disappointment unspooled in my gut. “Then how are you supposed to help me?”

“Wear this.” He brought forth a closed hand, then slowly opened it. Morrigan’s ring was cradled in his palm. “See her reality. Not only yours. The truth lingers in between.”

I snatched the ring from him, but did not do as he said. Intead, I fiddled with it, hesitant. Had he been rummaging through my things? “You cannot change what has been decided.”

“An apostate flies like a raven from its flock. She gave them everything, and lost it all. A sacrifice to end another.”

“Cole.” I stilled my hands, putting them against my thighs. “Will you stop me?”

The pattering of feet and worked up voices reached our ears. His eyes flickered.

“I promised not to. My promises can’t be broken. Can yours?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he vanished into thin air, leaving only the stale smell behind. Five hard knocks echoed in the sudden silence. 

“Elissa?” It was Nathaniel’s heated voice. “Am I allowed to come in?”

I regarded the ring in my hand. After a brief moment, I placed it under my pillow. Cole was not to ruin my plans any more than they already had been. 

“Yes,” I said, my voice weak. 

The door swung open, and he strided in. Before he threw the door shut, I caught a glimpse of Leliana and the guard she’d ordered to stay vigil by my door. Her visage was unreadable, but one thing was clear: I was in arrest. Trapped by more than her drugs.

“I heard of what happened,” he said and kneeled before me where I sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were kind, compassionate. “I am sorry I was not there.” His fingers grabbed mine. “At least we do not have to look for her now, do we?”

“Did you tell Leliana what she has done?”

“No. Do you want me to?”

“I am not sure.” I pressed his hands. A lump formed in my throat. “I am afraid,” I admitted.

Nathaniel gave a grave nod. “I saw her,” he said. “I saw her child.”

“The  _ monster _ ,” I corrected. “The monster who has the face of Alistair. Oh, Nathaniel. The Old Gods are surely testing me.” 

“Velanna says Morrigan holds great power. A Witch of the Wilds, indeed. That was what she said.”

“I need her to help us take them down.”

Nathaniel’s brows shot up. “Velanna’s?” He shook his head vehemently. “No, Elissa. I cannot allow that. She is under my protection.”

“Then what do you propose?” I caught his gaze. “Leliana begs me not to act, although she does not know the whole truth. If the Empress learns that her Advisor has been murdered…”

“The Inquisition is in war with Orlais.”

“Meaning that Ferelden once again is in war with Orlais.” My arms cassoted around my body. “And if I do not lay a hand on them…”

“Urthemiel roams the earth.” Nathaniel pulled himself up from the floor, placing himself beside me. With his head in hand, he massaged his temples. “If the Order takes the blame, the Inquisition cannot risk harm,” he murmured. “That is what we must do.”

“We use our diplomatic neutrality,” I said slowly. “So that the Inquisition walks free.”

“Neutrality. The biggest fraud we claim to be true.” He let out a short, mirthless chortle. 

“What do you think will happen to us?”

“If we are not assassinated, hanged, or beheaded, the First Warden will probably send us to the most desolate place he knows.”

“Nathaniel… This is more than I should ask of you.”

With the promise of a smile on his lips, he said, “You do not need to ask. I offered myself.” He shot up to his feet, briskly leaving for the door. Perhaps he hurried before had time to regret what he'd said. “I will speak with Josephine for your sake. I am certain she can convince Leliana to let you out of here.”

“And then?” I said, tiredly. The commotion and strangeness of the day had taken its toll on me. 

“Then we do what must be done,” he said, his tone solemn. "Wardens always do." He gave me a somber glance. "As you know more than any of us."


	15. Chapter 15

The sky outside my confinement turned dark. I stared out the small slits, feeling cold gusts of wind against my face, and counted the nights, not the days. One, two, three. 

Leliana had clearly been so adamant in her decision not to let me out that even Josephine struggled to change her mind. It should not have come as a surprise to me -- one did not become the Mistress of Whispers for less. 

As I rocked back and forth on the floor, my knees bruised from praying, I hummed on a melody my mother once had sung. As I hummed every syllable, as I refused to form the words she once had so delicately performed, the Calling’s murmurs slowly began to take form, filling in. Their distant voices, distorted in all their wheezes and hisses, was at first oddly comforting. They stole my attention from the most horrible of thoughts -- that Leliana, too, perhaps was prepared to kill the woman she once loved. She had, after all, done that before. Only Marjolaine’s death had been swift and merciful, even, where my degradation was naught but pure torture. 

But could she really have betrayed me, to have allied with Morrigan?

A soft pattering of footsteps behind me. When I turned to the sound, no one was there. But I felt _them_ watching me from the flitting shadows. The tangible presence of darkspawn, the smell of decay and feces. My teeth chattered. 

“Come,” they urged me, their rotten breath brushing my ear.

“Join us,” they cooed, a clawed hand caressing my cheek.

“Sister,” they said, embracing bony arms around me, “we are awaiting you.”

Around the third night, I no longer could bear it. It felt as if steaming blood trailed down my numbed ears and my throat was clawed into meaty pieces.

“Guard!” I screamed wildly, banging on the barricaded door. “Help me! Save me!”

But nobody came. 

And I almost gave in.

“Maker! What has happened to you?”

As I heard the human voice, so divine in its own existence, I opened a crusty eye and wiped snot from my nose. Had I been asleep?

“Josephine,” I croaked as I beheld her before me. She looked celestial, like she belonged on the Maker’s own meadows, and I could swear she carried the scent of Its divine flowers. I crawled towards the hem of her dress. How ironic it seemed that I a few days ago had asked her the very same, only to have my life turned upside down. “How I have prayed to see a friendly face again.” 

“Come now, Elissa,” she said and gently guided me to my feet, steering me to my bed. “One could have believed you have been in here for days!”

“For how long have I been here?” I breathed out the question as the mattress wobbled beneath me.

She gave me a long look, trying to deem if I was jesting. “Only for the night,” she then said, probably seeing my dreaded face. 

A stone dropped in my stomach. Had I gone completely mad? I knew my father had told me about an aunt that lost all her senses. Hysteria, he had called it. She had drifted further and further away from reality. I wrenched my hands. Did I have the same affliction? I’d heard such diseases sometimes ran in the blood. 

“Leliana thought it best to let you calm down,” Josephine continued. “She is worried, you see. About that...”

Worried? Not worried enough to come to see me herself, I didn’t say. Or did Josephine mean that Leliana was worried about the welfare of the Orlesian, secret, advisor? If so, Leliana indeed should have me locked up (I did, of course, not say that either).

“You are not limping anymore,” I interrupted her. I was in absolutely no mood to speak with her about what had happened. 

“No, I am not,” Josephine said, her brows carefully narrowed. She hesitated. “Madame de Fer helped me conceal it. The Inquisition’s ambassador cannot afford to show any sign of weakness,” she added, forcing a cheerful laugh. Why was she telling me all of this? From what I had come to know, Josephine was almost as adept as Leliana regarding secrets and their likes.

“Not that I mean any disrespect,” I said, “but what has brought you here?”

“There is to be a dinner in the main hall,” she replied and sounded quite relieved to avoid other, heavier, matters. “I -- we all, wish you to be there.”

I refrained from squirming. How was I to act normal when I only moments ago had spoken with darkspawn?

“Only the closest Inquisition members will attend,” Josephine continued as if that would make me more willing to join. “Evelyn is the one who organized the dinner. I believe,” she said in a next to a confidential whisper, “she is glad to be back.”

“And... the Advisor?” I didn’t bear to utter her name. 

“Oh, she will also be there, I am afraid. She is to work closely with Evelyn. They need to get to know each other better.” A brief pause and I did my best not to snort. “Her son will be there, as well.” Josephine’s face remained a conundrum to be solved. “His name is Kieran, and he is a charming boy, if I may say so.” Another pause. “I am not aware of what passed between you and Lady Morrigan--” 

I raised a hand, effectively silencing her. My mother would have been devastated by my rudeness. “I see,” I said, and I truly began to see something. A possibility. I remembered what Nan had said when I once happened to see her butcher a hen; it is best to quickly break its neck.  
If I managed to kill Morrigan and Urthemiel this eve, it all would be over. The Inquisition could blame the Wardens, and Nate and I could go and serve wherever the First Warden wanted us to, or at least face death together.

And the sooner the better. 

“Will Nathaniel be there?” I asked.

Josephine nodded. “Of course,” she said, smiling broadly when she realized she had me on the hook. 

Only she did not know that our roles were the opposite. 

I returned her smile, feeling slightly triumphant. I had not yet won the war, but I was close. Morrigan could not have anticipated that her cat-and-mouse game was to be her downfall. Pride had, after all, always been her vice. 

“I do not have a dress to wear,” I said, sealing my fate.

“It is good you have me, then,” Josephine said. She raised her manicured, soft hands, and clapped them together. One, two, three times. The door opened, and a handful of servants entered. “I have everything prepared.”

*

How bizarre it was to once again feel the pressure of a corset against my waist. The last time I wore a corset was the day before my family was taken from me, and here I was again, prepared to ruin another.

Not that Urthemiel was a real child; not that Morrigan was a mother in the true sense of the word, but still. 

It was bizarre. 

Josephine, however, seemed more than pleased with herself. 

“So, Ambassador, “ I said, not needing to will my lips into a smile. “How do I look?” I swirled around. For once I was content with my theatrics, but an old part of me secretly relished in wearing snow-white muslin and lace, so pretending was not too difficult. The dress did not compare to those I had owned when I was at the Court; they all had been made of exquisite velvet and silk and fur, but the color was indeed fitting for the evening. 

White felt like salvation, and that was what I was about to bring. 

“Absolutely beautiful,” she said. She was about to pick up a handheld mirror, but I shook my head. 

“I trust you,” I said, not wanting to see what I had become. I did not trust her, but she needn’t know that. I suspected I looked sickly; maybe I was, I thought, shivering. 

She opened her mouth but was interrupted by a servant knocking on the doorframe. “My lady, Commander,” the servant said, though looking at Josephine rather than me, “I was told to fetch you? The dinner is soon to be served.”

“Oh,” Josephine said, her gaze leaving me. “Right on time.” Her face lit up with a smile. “Thank you,” she told the servant, and her gaze returned to me. “Will you be so kind as to accompany me?”

“Of course,” I said. My stomach fluttered with anticipation. 

She was quiet as we strode to where the feast was to be held. I sensed that she had questions, but I was in luck -- her good manners refrained her from asking. 

When we arrived, all guests were already there; Sera and Varric sat with Hawke and Isabela, already drinking wine and what-not; Dorian was placed next to the Iron Bull and his cheerful Chargers; Vivienne sat quietly beside Solas and Fiona, all of which look quite discontent with their placements, and Dagna and Scout Harding sat talking. Dagna flashed me a smile as I passed her, one I for once had the stomach to return. I continued to let my gaze sweep the large table, but I saw no Morrigan, no Kieran. I let out a breath. 

Josephine excused herself and left my side to join with Leliana, Cullen, and Cassandra. As my eyes met Leliana’s, I quickly turned away, clenching my jaw. There was a lot I had to say to her, but this was not the time. 

“Elissa! Come over here!” That was Bethany, who surprisingly sat together with the Wardens instead of her sister. Sigrun pulled out a chair for me, allowing me to take a seat between her and Nathaniel. I noted she needed to sit on a pillow to reach up to the table, making me assume that Dagna and Harding also had the same issue, while the taller Varric probably didn’t. The surface world was not made for dwarves, it seemed, making me think about Oghren’s letter.

Nathaniel gave me a strained smile as I took my seat. “It is good to have you back,” he said. Beneath the table, he passed me a package of some kind. “I assume you have met Blackwall?” 

I placed the package on my thighs, nodding to Blackwall. He grunted a ‘hi’ to me, and something akin awe and shame danced in his eyes. No wonder he was ashamed, I thought, having hidden during the Blight. At least that was what Bethany had told me. 

“Yes, we have met,” I said, trying to figure out what Nathaniel had given me. A piece of parchment, and a... knife? Dagger? 

“Nathaniel told us what happened yesterday,” Velanna said, leaning toward me. I shot him an asking glance, and his dark head moved in an almost imperceptible shake. 

“I can’t believe she’s here,” Bethany concurred.

“The advisor?” I asked, taking a nervous sip from my newly filled glass. 

Sigrun nodded, already holding her cutlery. “And that none told you she was coming!”

“I had to tell them that you two met yesterday,” Nathaniel said, scratching the back of his hand. “Dagna told them that Lady Morrigan was an old acquaintance of yours,” he explained and cleared his throat. “That she traveled with you during the Blight.”

“We all already knew there was a witch in your party,” Bethany said, “but not that she was Flemeth’s daughter!”

I peered at Bethany, my hands stilling on my thighs. “You know who Flemeth is?”

“I’m from Lothering, of course, I do,” Bethany said. “But yes, I have even met her.” She took a moment to collect herself. “It is a long story, none I’m going to bore you with tonight,” she added with a wan smile. "But Morrigan used to come to the village. If it weren't for Dagna, I wouldn't have recognized her."

“How did it feel to see her again?” Sigrun immediately asked me, her voice kind, oblivious of my thoughts. 

“Uh,” I said, sharing a look with Nathaniel. “Surprising, I assume.” It was not a lie, exactly. “I wish Leliana had informed me of her arrival,” I continued. “We… We did not part ways as friends.” 

Our heads turned as a door flung open, as did the other table guests, their gazes filled with curiosity and interest. I nearly choked on another sip of wine, because in came Evelyn, dressed in a silk gown she must have bought in Val Royeaux, accompanied by Morrigan and Kieran. I knew Morrigan and the abomination would attend, it was not that, but that Evelyn held a hand on the pale boy’s shoulder, as if trying to give him some of her confidence, and was deeply involved in some sort of conversation with Morrigan. And how beautiful Morrigan was, clad in a maroon dress that hung on her hips. My heart fluttered at the sight, and a flash of a memory whitened my vision. 

I envisioned her toes curling, her fingers digging into my sweaty skin, peeling my skin off, setting my soul free; I soared, I crashed ... 

Nathaniel placed a hand on my arm as if to hold me back. His touch broke me free from the past, returning me to where we were. 

Morrigan had once tricked me with whispers of desire; and now I was to trick her back. 

Leliana and Josephine rose from their chairs to greet them. 

“Are you seeing this?” I croaked to Nathaniel. “Are you seeing what I am seeing?”

Leliana embraced Morrigan while Josephine playfully bowed to Kieran, saying something I could not hear. And the worst part was that Morrigan's arms snaked themselves around Leliana’s back, answering her embrace. 

I balled my hands into a fist, pressing my nails into my palms. This was indeed proof of Leliana’s betrayal. Why else would they embrace each other, if not for sealing a pact of some kind? They had never, not once under the year we traveled together, been particularly close. In fact, I remembered that I’d been trying to reconcile them as best as I could, and to no avail. But now ...

Nathaniel’s breath brushed my ear. “I have written instructions where to find her accommodations,” he whispered. “And given you everything you need to fulfill what you must.”

“A... knife?” I mouthed back, suddenly filled with disbelief. As I regarded Morrigan’s confident stature I recalled the powers she possessed, and not only her carnal ones. This was, however, not the time for doubts, so I tried my best to push the feelings away. If I was to succeed, my mind and body needed to be aligned. 

“ _And_ a distraction,” he assured me. “But not now, not yet.” 

“I want us all to welcome the Arcane Advisor, Lady Morrigan, and her son Kieran,” Evelyn spoke up, recalling our attention. “Empress Celene has been most kind to offer such a source of knowledge. I hope you both will enjoy your stay here,” she said to them as Leliana and Josephine led them to their seats. Morrigan nodded at that, and Kieran -- the monster! -- gave Evelyn a shy smile. At that moment, it was difficult for me to wish for his windpipes to crush. I gritted my teeth. Urthemiel surely knew how to disguise himself. 

Evelyn’s face adopted a small grin, and she gestured at the long table. “I am delighted to be back here in Skyhold, back among friends.” To that, the Chargers gave a few shouts of joy. “In the name of the Inquisition, I declare the feast open!” 

Through the doors behind her came a horde of servants carrying trays of food and sweetmeats. Evelyn had made sure this was to be a most lavish banquet. 

As murmurs rose around the table I dared say to Nathaniel, “I think I must end Morrigan first, then the child.”

He nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “The monster, you mean.”

I grimaced. “That's what I said.”

The dinner passed in an addled haze. While I managed to keep up a few light-hearted conversations with my Warden comrades, my senses became clear first when Morrigan’s voice reached me as she excused herself. I carefully glanced at her, sliding the sharp blade beneath my gown, trying to figure out how to carry it without anyone noticing. 

“Mother,” Kieran said, looking at his plate, “may I stay?”

“I will take care of him,” Evelyn quickly offered. “I promised to show him my collection of scales.”

It was difficult not to burst out laughing. I wanted to tell Evelyn that the sweet boy she had grown to like had been an _archdemon_ in his past life. Of course, he was interested in dragon scales and the likes -- he had, after all, been covered with them.

“If ‘tis your wish,” Morrigan agreed after a short contemplation, laying a tender hand on Kieran’s shoulder. Before my apparently-not-death, I could have crossed my heart that this was a scene I never would be seeing. 

“I will have Mother Giselle take him back to your quarters afterward,” Evelyn added.

“Behave,” Morrigan said to her offspring, and by the Maker, did it look like she was about to ruffle his hair?

“Yes, Mother,” Kieran said, his eyes almost sparkling with excitement. I swallowed. The anticipation I earlier felt was gone and replaced with something entirely else. 

“Wait.” Nathaniel’s hand had returned to my arm. “Wait for a while before you leave.”

“Mmh.” I forced myself to stare at my untouched plate. By the time I looked up, I found I was not the only one who noted it was full. Hawke, ever so vigilant, caught my eye, narrowing her brows in a question. I gave a short shake of my head, sending her what I hoped was an unconcerned smile. 

It did not take long until Solas also left the table, and as time went by, Dagna and Harding also went. If I heard Dagna correctly, she wished to show Harding something she had built -- I did not understand what it was, despite her long explanation. 

I took a deep breath, my head dizzy. “Pardon me,” I said to my fellow Wardens, steadying my voice. I hid a yawn behind my hand. Bethany yawned as well. “I believe I need to return to my chambers.”

“Shall we spar in the morning?” Velanna wondered. “Since you did not come today?”

“I cannot see why we should not,” I said, forcing myself to smile. The edges of my lips twitched. 

“I bid you all a good night,” I said, avoiding Nathaniel’s gaze. I dared not look at him, because I was unsure of what my eyes betrayed. 

As I passed Evelyn on the way out, I quickened my pace, pondering what she was to say when she found out the truth about who -- what -- Kieran was. I did not allow myself to breathe until I was out in the corridor, the door shut behind me. 

I brought forth the instructions Nathaniel had given me and began to wander the corridors, my blade now painfully and awkwardly hidden in my armpit. As I sneaked my way to Morrigan’s room, I regularly looked over my shoulder, sensing I wasn’t alone. Was it a shadow that followed me? I nagged at my inner cheek. Could the darkspawn not give me a single moment to myself? 

I stopped before a heavy iron-and-oak door and double-checked the note. The door was ajar, and it made me hesitate. I wiped away perspiration from my brow, feeling feverish. It could be no other room; this was the right one. 

I looked to my right and left. No one was in sight. I grabbed the hilt of my knife, and it was slippery with warm sweat. Slowly, I made my way forward, carefully pushing the door open, little by little. It did creak, but not too much, I said to myself. 

I slid through the crack. The room was semi-dark, and I blinked, adjusting my sight; only a couple of candle stumps burnt by the vanity table. That was where I found her, sitting. Her long, black hair tumbled down her shoulders.

I could not move. 

“I have been waiting for you. It took you longer than I expected,” Morrigan said calmly, looking at me in the mirror. For the first time in what could be eons, I met her gaze. It had not changed; her eyes were alert, shrewd. I nearly lost myself in them. “A knife in my back?” She tsked. “You always were a poet.”

I unstuck my tongue from my dry gum. “No, not your back,” I rasped and closed the door behind me. I took a step forward. “I mean to aim for your heart.” Another step. She could extinguish me as easily as a flame, and I would not even have the time to blink. My only chance, I figured, was to take advantage of her pride and narcissism. “For an eternity I have wondered if you have one.” 

She placed her hands on the table, her gaze unwavering, her back straight. “And you still haven’t reached an answer? You ought to know.”

“I once thought I did.” I forgot myself, making a sweeping gesture with the trembling hand I held the knife in. “But here we are.” Another step forward. “You know, I can forgive you for leaving me the night before the battle. I truly can.” Another step. If I reached out my hand, I could bury it in the thickness of her hair. “But you stole something from me.” My voice quivered. “You stole my sacrifice, Morrigan, and brought out my nemesis to this world. The worst part is, that is not all you did. You locked me in the Fade.” Hot tears filled my eyes, dimming my vision. “In the world of the condemned, in limbo.”

The muscles on her neck moved as if she was swallowing. Without breaking our eye contact, she slowly turned around.

“I didn’t know that,” she said calmly, her solemn eyes burrowing themselves in mine. “When Wynne told me you still lived, I did all --”

“Stop it! Stop with these lies!” The tip of my knife rested against her chest. Flames engulfed my body, my mind. “And now you and Leliana conspire against me. You thought I did not know?” I felt wild, feral, my mind slowly losing control. I pressed the tip through her fabric, not stopping until a drop of blood sated my hunger. 

Her face was unchanged. Did she not feel pain? Slowly she raised her hand, letting her cool fingers circle around my wrist. My breath hitched as a sudden coldness spread in my veins. What sorcery was this? I stared at her fingers, so clean and pale and soft. Where had the dirt gone? She always had dark crescents beneath her fingernails and her fingertips discolored from picking plants. 

I looked back into her eyes. She pulled me closer. “I didn’t know, Elissa,” she pressed, letting a flicker of emotion cross her eyes. Those beautiful eyes. Her warm breath kissed my cheeks. She smelled of wet down. I inhaled her scent.

If she at this moment had apologized to me, if she had possessed the spine to beg for forgiveness, I would have lacked the will to resist her. I waited. My muscles were coiled, prepared to retreat, prepared to attack. 

“I did what I had to do,” she said, taking a deep breath, her grip around my wrist hardening. I wished things were different. I wished we were back in our tent, seeking refuge from the downfall and responsibilities and the outside world that brought nothing but harm … “I did what was necessary. Kieran --” 

I pushed the blade in. I felt it scrape against her ribs. Her face contorted. I pulled it out, my head swirling, my hands drenched in hot blood.

“Morrigan. I am so sorry,” I whispered, meaning it. By the Maker, how I meant it! My strength left me as I took Morrigan into my arms. 

What happened next I couldn’t quite comprehend. I heard a young boy scream for his Mother; I heard a gasp; I heard Morrigan’s wet breathing; I felt my body shudder; I saw an arrowhead jutting out my shoulder, peeking out from my flesh.

“Elissa.” Morrigan croaked. “Let me heal you.”

“What?” I pried her fingers away from my wrists, stumbling back. The knife, covered with black blood, fell from my hand to the floor. But she wasn’t bleeding. My eyes darted to the knife. It wasn’t covered in blood any longer.

“No, no…” I covered my face in my hands. I had failed. Of course, she had tricked me once more! How could I have thought otherwise?

“Let me take care of you,” she repeated. 

“Do not touch me,” I hissed, spitting before her. “Witch!” I clutched at the arrow, seeing my white gown slowly soaking in blood. My own blood. 

Strong fingers grasped my arms from behind, fastening them. “Commander Elissa.” I recognized the voice that belonged to Leliana’s spy. I laughed mirthlessly. Yes, this was yet another proof. How many more did I need? “You are under arrest …”

I stared at Morrigan. Her mouth was a thin line, and there was no smirk hidden in her visage. Kieran crashed into her arms, burying his head into her midriff. She raised a hand, caressing the boy’s night-black hair, but her eyes were directed at me.

“May the Maker have mercy on your soul.” Mother Giselle shook her head in disgust, a hand covering her mouth. Well, I knew what I looked like. I looked like a murderer, while one who killed a demon was seen as a knight, not a killer. I only had to make them see what I did. 

“She is a monster!” I said, but Giselle avoided my eyes. “He is a monster!” I said, receiving a scared glance from Kieran, but the agent holding my arms shackled me instead for aiming her bow against them. No one was listening to me. I wanted to scream. “You have not won,” I said to Morrigan. “I know what you have done. I mean to undo it.”

“But you don’t know,” Morrigan said. Her voice was neither soft nor harsh. “Don’t worry. I shall make you see.”

Mother Giselle and the agent frogmarched me through the halls. I stumbled, losing my footing, even though I stared down the floor, unable to meet the servant’s curious glances. 

Giselle mumbled a prayer as she opened the door that led to the dining room. The agitated voices inside quickly silenced. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Nathaniel demanded, storming towards us. 

Leliana let out the heaviest of sighs. “Oh, Elissa. What have you done?” It was a rhetorical question, of course. She had ordered the agent to intervene as soon as I did something like this. We both knew it, and I clenched my teeth together as to not say something I could come to regret.

I dared to raise my gaze. Cassandra stared at me; as did Cullen; well, to be fair, all of them did. Hawke had a nearly shocked expression. Why? She had known I was up to something. 

“Not you too.” Evelyn sounded beaten. 

I was exhausted. If I closed my eyes, I probably could just flee from this --

“Take them to the cells.” Evelyn turned away from me. Them? I looked about and found that Blackwall, too, was in chains. Cassandra paced to Evelyn, putting a hand on her shoulder. As the agent dragged me away, my heart sunken, I overheard Evelyn say, “And I who longed to come back here.”


	16. Chapter 16

_Tip, tap, tip, tap._ Drops of water clanked down a metal bucket. I had since long lost count. 

I curled myself into a fetus-position on the makeshift cot made of moldy hay, trying to ignore my burning shoulder. I heard the mad, sad mutterings of another prisoner -- Magister Alexius, a guard had called him, and I wondered for how long I myself was to be locked here. 

As I earlier have said, I found myself perpetually trapped. This was the second time for me behind bars -- the other had been in Fort Drakon, from where Morrigan and Leliana had freed me. How fitting that it was they who put me in another cell. 

“Blackwall isn’t my real name,” not-Blackwall suddenly said, calling my attention. I looked up at him. He was perched against the wall, his strong arms resting on his knees, his head hanging. “I’m not even a Warden.”

“No? Then what is your given name?” I asked tiredly. I could not feel anger towards him; I could probably not feel anger towards anyone, at this point. “Your real name?”

“Rainier. Thom Rainier,” he said. 

“I am pleased to finally meet you.” I heaved myself up, hissing. My bandaged arm hung limp, useless, by my side. The arrow must have torn some muscles asunder. I cannot say I really cared. “How did they find out? You told them?”

“Quiet!” a guard called out, rapping against the bars, disgust dripping off his voice. “Murderers, the lot of ye.” Thom Rainier raised his head at that. 

“No,” he replied to me hushedly, seeking my gaze. “The Commander did. About time.” He let out a huff of air. “I was tired of pretending.” 

Ah, I thought to myself. So that was the distraction Nathaniel had spoken of. Probably also the matter he had been researching on his own. I wrenched my hands. It did not feel well that Nathaniel had served Thom’s head on a plate only to buy me time. 

“Do you wish to be one?” I asked.

“Hmm?”

“A Grey Warden,” I clarified. 

“Nay,” he said. “I don’t deserve it. What I deserve,” he gestured about the cell, “is to rot in here.”

I let out a short laugh, pressing a hand at my chest. “You would be surprised. The Order is filled with the scum of Thedas, atoning their sins.”

He shook his dark head again, seemingly not disturbed by being associated with scum. “I want to be punished.”

“Some would consider joining the Order a punishment,” I said. “Maker knows I did.” I leaned my head against the stone wall and closed my eyes, allowing myself to pretend I was back in the Fade -- no, with Delilah in that glade. I soon reopened them. Fantasies did me no good. I continued, “And after what happened at Adamant, Wardens are not exactly praised. Andraste’s flames, Vivienne does not even believe the Blight happened!”

“But it did,” Thom said, locking his eyes with mine.

“It surely did,” I agreed, shivering. 

He regarded me before jerking his bearded chin at my shoulder. “Let them heal the wound. That arm of yours can still be saved.” 

I glanced down my shoulder. The dress of salvation was now not more than a dress of defeat, the white textile turned grey and black and brown with dried blood. 

“There is no use,” I answered breathlessly. Thom Rainier scratched his beard, closing his eyes. He didn’t press the matter further -- he if anyone knew what state of mind I was in. The state of complete surrender.

*

_Tip, tap, tip, tap._

Thom Rainier was led out of the cell. To be trialed by Evelyn, the guard told him. I tried to catch his eye, but they were downcast. I decided not to pray for him.

The Maker did not hear my pleading, anyhow. I was only doing him a favor. 

*

A kick against my leg. Someone dragging me to my feet. What would Father say if he saw me? 

Duncan? 

*

Stairway. My limp feet tapping against every step. _Tip, tap, tip, tap._ The winded breaths of the men holding me. My shoulder hurt. 

*

Leliana’s straight back faced me. Without acknowledging me - or any one of us, really, she flicked her wrist. At that, the guards let me fall to the ground and left, leaving only a lingering scent of musk and tobacco.

A caged raven peered curiously at me, flapping its wings. 

“Stand up,” Leliana said, her voice iron. She still refused to turn about, to look me in the eye. I swallowed. A burning fear had begun to grow in the pit of my stomach. It was only my subconscious mind telling me that I did not want to die. It was rare, I’d found, that my subconscious mind and I agreed. 

On wobbly legs I stood up, grinding my teeth as to not groan. I waited for her to speak, but she did not. She stood still as a statue. Even to her, who once had loved me like no one else, I didn’t fully dare to reveal what had been so deeply hidden for so long. But what choices did I have?

“If you are not conspiring with Morrigan,” I began tentatively, “then you ought to know the truth before you have me punished.”

Still no response. 

“I did not try to kill her because she left me before the Battle.” I licked my lips. “I am not some scorned lover. She …” I shifted my weight, grasping for words. “Kieran is Alistair’s son, Leliana. And somehow Kieran is the sole reason I am alive. I am not allowed to tell you it all, and I am not even sure I am able to … I know this sounds unbelievable, but he is the archdemon.”

As I uttered the secret I had carried for what felt like forever -- and maybe in some sense had -- a sense of freedom emerged. A freedom that had been buried beneath all lies and secrets. 

Leliana breathed heavily, her shoulders heaving. “It sounds unbelievable,” she agreed. “But this is nothing new to me. Elissa, Morrigan has already told me.” 

I shot towards her, ignoring my flaring shoulder. “You knew?” I asked, my voice shrill even to me. “You knew and allowed them here? To… to live?”

She slowly spun toward me. The sun coming in from the window fell onto her face, softening her hard visage.

“Because you don’t know the whole story,” Leliana said, her brows slackening in exhaustion. “Kieran is not the archdemon, though he does inhabit its soul.”

I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I failed at that as well. “What difference does it make? I am a Warden! I cannot allow an archdemon to walk this earth. You surely understand this. It goes against every fiber in my being. It is my duty, my honor, it is in my blood!”

Leliana’s hardened glare quieted me. “Don’t talk to me as if I don’t know neither duty nor honor.”

“So long as I breathe I will try to stop them,” I shot up anew, shaking my head. “I truly hoped, with all my heart, that you were my friend. That I was wrong to even think that you betrayed me.” I clenched my jaw. “But I should have known better. I did meet Marjolaine, after all. I saw what you did to her.”

I heard the smacking sound of her gloved palm hitting my cheek before I felt the prickling pain erode on my skin. 

Leliana bared her teeth before closing up, her face turning to a stranger’s mask. “Before I very kindly ask you to get out, I’ll tell you why I allowed them here. Morrigan explained why she acted as she did, and for some reason or another, I understood her.” She turned her back to me, signaling this conversation soon was to be ended. At least she still felt safe enough with me to do so, which was a comfort, however small. “I will not punish you for being unaware. Neither will Morrigan or Evelyn. Morrigan has assured me that Orlais won’t know of your crime.” She paused briefly, opening the raven’s cage, letting the animal climb out on her arm. Its black talons closed about her arm. She tenderly stroke its neck. “Madame de Fer is awaiting you. I asked her to heal your shoulder -- no, don’t object. Thereafter, you are to find the Warden-Commander. He refused to go through the Joining without you.” Her hand stopped to rest on the raven’s back. It cawed unhappily. “Don’t make me regret this, Elissa. I can’t keep on protecting you. Let Morrigan and Kieran be.”

“The Joining?” I said, dumbfounded.

“Thom Rainier’s. The Inquisitor decided it was to be his punishment. She didn’t want him to die.” She let out a small, mirthless laugh. “But from what I remember you telling me --”

“Yes,” I said hastily, not wanting to hear it. Alistair had been upset with me for telling her about it, and at this moment, I agreed with him. I shouldn’t have told Leliana nor Morrigan any of the Order’s secrets. It was yet another mistake I needed to live with. “I know.”

“It is time for you to leave,” Leliana said, the heat in her voice gone. “I can’t stand looking at you right now.”

*

There was something about Vivienne that both intrigued and scared me. The air around her seemed electric, and she moved and spoke as it behooved a woman of the highest ranks. But her eyes always lingered on mine; at the same time, she barely spared me a look. Because she was not noble, not in any sense of the word. She was a courtesan and a mage, and from birth, I had learned that they were more dangerous than anyone else. Vivienne was a walking paradox; she shouldn’t be allowed to be who she was, and she knew it. Not with claws but with poisoned words had she climbed to where she now was, and nothing or no one was going to take that away from her. Or stand in her way.

“Come on in, darling,” she said even before my knuckles touched the door. I quietly stepped inside her quarters, imagining that I was a child about to be chided at by Nan. I wondered if I, when I still bore the name Cousland or the title Warden-Commander, instilled the same feeling of respect (or was it fear?) as she. Probably not. Not many did.

“Leliana told me to come,” I said, trying to sound casual. If she knew my thoughts, she did not show it. Vivienne, I believe, was on par with Leliana with hiding their true selves. 

I envied them for that. 

“Yes, yes,” she said from where she perched on a chaise longue, her voice honey and silver. But what was that in her eyes? A flash of contempt? When I dared to take another look, it was gone; all I saw was her deep brown irises that had enchanted Duke Bastien de Ghislain. She gestured at an armchair. “Take a seat, Commander.” 

I felt uncomfortable being in there; everything was neat, spotless, except for me. I felt like a puddle of drainage water. My hair was tousled and I reeked of blood and filth. 

I seated myself in the armchair, the soft velvet divine against my fingertips. I fought the urge to hide my dirty fingernails from her scrutinizing gaze. 

Without further ado, her manicured hands found my shoulder. I winced as her magic began to repair the damaged tissue, and I imagined I could hear the wet sound of muscles and flesh mend. 

I breathed in the fresh scent of her soap, longing for a bath myself, when she broke the silence. “This is an improvement from the last time I healed you,” she said, a stroke of amusement in her voice. “Though I highly doubt the reason to be so.”

“The last time?” I turned my head so I could see her.

“After you so graciously flew out of the rift,” she explained. “Fiona, Solas, and I spent quite some time saving you.” 

“I did not know that,” I said, trying to visualize the three of them working together. I suddenly felt bad; I had barely spoken with any of them (not that they had seemed overly interested in talking with me in return). “Thank you.”

Her lips curled into a delicate smile, but she did not respond. A sudden spike of unease flooded me. Maybe this, in some way I couldn’t understand, was a part of the Game? Maybe she expected me to do something for her in return? 

“I assume I owe you a favor,” I tried, flinching as her hand pressed harder against my wound. 

“I assume you do,” she said, and removed her hands from me. I tested my shoulder, rolling it. The pain was completely gone. Blackwall (Rainier, I corrected myself) had been right. It would have been foolish of me not to heal it, an act of defiance only affecting myself. 

I left Vivienne’s quarters as swiftly as I could, afraid to further tangle myself in her net. I found my way to my own room and for the first time during my stay, I genuinely appreciated the small space. I pulled out wisps of hay from my hair, embarrassed by the fact that not only Vivienne but all servants I had passed had seen me in this state, washed myself, and changed into a set of fresh clothes. Feeling a little bit more human, I decided to do what Leliana had ordered and began to search for Nathaniel. 

While it was easy to find him and Rainier, it was more difficult to do so discreetly. My cheeks heated with shame -- more from being caught than the deed itself -- when Cassandra disapprovingly stared after me, or Evelyn turned away her eyes.

If not for Leliana having my back, I probably would have dangled in a snare by then, my skin blue-tinged. Or worse. 

Rainier gave me a bereft nod as I stepped into the Wardens’ barracks.  
“Hi,” I said and found that even though I had freshened myself up, I still felt like a puddle of drainage water. 

Nathaniel came up to me, clutching me in a hug. His sign of affection surprised me, but my surprise quickly gave way to appreciation. I returned his embrace, my chest warmer than it had been before. 

“I suppose it is you I shall give thanks to for getting me out,” I said against his chest. 

“I am sorry it did not work out,” he whispered into my ear. “I will figure out another way.”

I shook my head, leaving the safety of his arms. He gave me a questioning glance which I ignored. Not because I wanted to ignore _him_ , but more that I myself was unable to pin exactly why. 

There were many potential reasons; I was exhausted, and while the idea of Morrigan and Kieran not getting what they deserved irked me, I wanted to think of something else. Just for one day. Not that there was much harm I could do -- shadows kept on following me, monitoring my every move. Leliana would make sure I wasn’t unsupervised. 

The candles and oil lamps flickered as he turned to his desk, unlocking a drawer. He pulled it out and brought up a vial and a chalice. I recognized the chalice with a shudder; it was the same one that I had retrieved from Ostagar, the one which had claimed several of my brethren, the one who had turned my life around. It was bittersweet to see it again. The silver was dull from age, its unpolished rim encrusted with blackened ichor. 

“Who else will be there for my Joining?” Thom asked dully. As I looked at him, his eyes hollow, I realized that he really had wanted a harsher punishment.

“Only us,” Nathaniel said, giving me another glance. “If you are willing,” he asked me.

“Will Velanna not come?” I asked. 

“She has done this many times,” Nathaniel said, and I heard what he didn’t say; that even Velanna was sick of seeing recruits perish. I gave a short nod at that, steeling myself. 

When we left the grounds of Skyhold, the sky had darkened. We walked past the castle gates; past the growing village outside; along the winding road, until Nathaniel made an abrupt turn to the right, guiding us into a thick growing forest, far away from prying eyes. 

It seemed as if the walk was neverending, and I mused that Nathaniel had done this on purpose. In case Thom passed away, he had tried to make him live as long as possible. 

“Here,” Nathaniel said. It was a small opening, and I spotted a raised tent for Thom in case he lived. Tufts of grass were trampled down as not to catch fire, and in the middle of the opening, a heap of sticks and wood had been prepared. With solemn reverence, as rituals often invoked, Nathaniel bent before it and hit flint against steel, letting the tinder catch fire. Thom observed Nathaniel quietly, but pearls of sweat adorned his brow. He was more nervous than he let on, and with all right. I wanted to put a hand on his arm, say that it all was going to be all right. But I didn’t want to lie to him.

We placed ourselves in the wet grass, watching the fire settle in the heap. The flames grew higher and higher. When Nathaniel was certain the fire wasn’t going to die on us, leaving us in the dark, he nodded to me. 

“You want me to do it?” I asked, anxiety hitching my voice. Another nod.

I willed my hands to stop shaking as I took the chalice and vial from his pack. Thom’s eyes followed me as I prepared what he was to consume. He did not know he was going to drink the sluggish liquid until I stood there, with the chalice of death in my tight hands, and held it out before me. A flicker of disgust and fear crossed his murky face, but he said nothing. 

Nathaniel placed himself beside me, as if sharing his strength. I cleared my throat, beckoning Thom to come closer.

And I did what Alistair and Duncan had done to me, what Wardens in generations and over centuries had done.

While it sickened me, it was my duty. I caught Thom’s eyes and opened my mouth to speak the words that had doomed me to a life that is not my own. 

“Join us, brothers and sisters,” I intoned, raising the cup slightly. My hands no longer quivered. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you. Thom, step forward.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving, but did what I ordered him. Because that was what Wardens did -- what they were ordered. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.” 

I signaled to him that he was to take the chalice from my hands, and if it was in either disgust, fear or reverence, he grasped it ever so gently and brought the chalice to his lips without hesitation. After only an asking glance, to see if he did it right, he emptied the contents in one swig. 

“From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden. It is finished. Welcome,” I finished and he looked at us, astounded and bewildered at once, waiting for something to happen. I held my breath, hoping he was to live. Then his hand slackened, the chalice hit the soft ground, drops of ichor fleeing the bowl. His eyes rolled backward, and he fell down beside the chalice, spasming.

Beside me, Nathaniel stood perfectly still, also holding his breath. Black froth leaked out from the edge of Thom’s mouth, his skin paling. Then his body stopped moving.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out, and the stars glittered over us. Nathaniel passed by my side, hunkering beside the lifeless body. Carefully, perhaps with more gentleness than someone ever showed Thom in his entire life, Nathaniel’s slender fingers sough the artery on Thom’s neck, seeking for a pulse, a sign of life. 

Nathaniel swallowed, and it looked like he had tears dancing in the edges of his eyes. As his gaze sought mine, I slumped to the cold ground, my hands trembling anew. 

“We have a new brother,” Nathaniel said, pride, gratitude and relief flooding his voice. Whatever he had done in his past life, he was now one of us. We would do anything for him; and he was to do anything for us in return.

“Let us bring him into the tent,” I said. As I grabbed his feet and Nathaniel his shoulders, I paused, and peered into the darkness around us, wondering if the agent Leliana had sent for me saw what we had done. Wondering if the agent’s eyes were open wide in shock. 

I smiled to myself at the thought, knowing Leliana wouldn’t allow the secret to leak out, and we lifted him.


	17. Chapter 17

To be a Grey Warden is to be forsworn of a life of luxury, but that does not mean we didn’t celebrate a successful Joining. They were, after all, rare. 

The revelation that Thom’s defiled blood still pumped in his veins was the sole reason why we crammed together in the Wardens’ humble barracks with bottles of wine and spirits, stolen (‘borrowed,’ Sigrun assured Nathaniel) from behind Flissa’s and Cabot’s backs. We locked the door behind us, singing songs of war and nonsense until our throats went dry. And when we began to croak, we poured ourselves another glass and kept on singing. 

But the morning sun from when Nate, Thom, and I returned to Skyhold had yellowed and reddened. One could only sing for so long. My head was addled with alcohol, and the iron-buckled bucket we kept in a darkening corner contained stomach contents from more than one of us. I sniffed but could no longer smell its sharpness. For that, I was thankful.

Thom and Sigrun were in deep conversation across the table, their loud drunken voices invading my ears, banging against my skull. Behind Thom’s bushy beard, I could discern a smile so genuine that I immediately forgave them. I think it was the happiest I ever saw him. The murderer and imposter Thom Rainier was gone; only Warden Thom remained. Things were as they should.

Except for what I tried to push from my mind. I drained my cup and smacked my mouth as if it would get rid of the taste. My mind had not been addled enough, I realized unhappily, as I was unable to get rid of the image of Morrigan’s penetrating gaze.  
Why had Leliana understood Morrigan’s deceit? Why had Cole asked me to listen to her? What was it I had missed?

No -- I interrupted myself, refilling my cup. Sweat trickled down my back, making me shiver in spite of it being hot. The hearth crackled as its rich fire devoured blackening wood. Which one of us had been ludicrous enough to give it more fuel? Was I the one to blame? I didn’t remember. I took another drink, brooding. The lukewarm wine -- homebrewed, I could tell, did nothing to cool me.

Next to me sat Bethany, the cause why I was not near as drunk as I longed to, shuffling a deck of cards. She had left her sister's company to be with us this festive day, doomed as she was to forever be torn between families. It was the reason why so many Wardens stayed away from marriage and blood ties -- because ichor would always win. Did Hawke know that?

My eyes followed the cards as she deftly dealt them to herself, Nathaniel and Thom. Velanna’s chair creaked as she leaned back, idly plucking the strings of a tiny instrument. It was one of the melodies we earlier had heartily sung, but now it sounded mellow and a lot calmer. 

I closed my eyes, losing myself in the melody. I thought of wildflowers and verdant moss and carpets of pine needles. Feeling a lot more at ease, I reopened my eyes, following the game of Wicked Grace that was played before me. In the lower-left corner of my right eye, I noticed that Nathaniel’s card-free hand rested on Velanna’s thigh, and a strong feeling of homeliness struck me. I could tell that none of the others thought their relationship to be something to fuss over, and I smiled inwardly. 

They were, indeed, family. _My_ family.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was seeing that Thom had fallen asleep with his head on the table, the beginning of a wooden carving beside his ruffled head. Flakes of fair wood were sprayed over the floor. I looked about. Sigrun snored from her bed, in which she hadn’t even crept under the sheets. No wonder. I fanned myself with my hand. The fire still burned, as it hadn’t any worry in the world. As if water didn’t exist. 

There were no signs of neither Bethany, Nathaniel, or Velanna. The cards were placed in the midst of the table in a neat heap, and Velanna’s instrument sat forlornly in the chair she had claimed as hers. 

My head pulsated lightly, and something akin to pride struck me. Even if I probably had Bethany to thanks, I miraculously had spent a full day drinking without ruining it. If only Leliana were there to see my progress.

The heat suffocated me, so I decided to get some fresh air. Perhaps I could find the rest of my comrades outside, cooling themselves in the breezes. I slowly pulled out my chair, and with the help of the unsteady table, I managed to rise. The earth swayed beneath my feet, and I scrambled to the door, yearning to feel crisp air against my reddish skin. 

I stepped out, but the cold wall of air was still, quiet. Not that the narrow alleys around the Grey Warden barracks were often visited, but I didn’t spot one person. A moan escaped my chapped lips as the headache intensified. Fighting the sudden urge of thirst -- the kind nothing but pure water could quell --, I began to lumber towards the tavern. There was no other place where I could think they gone to. 

My nerves calmed as the air carried voices from the alehouse. In my mind, I visualized them together with Hawke, Isabela, and the rest of Evelyn’s companions, sharing stories and jokes of all kinds, not wanting the evening to end. 

Just as I was about to enter, my stomach coiled. My hand rested on the door handle, opened and closed by so many, and I hesitated. Something nagged at me inside my skull, making me look over my shoulder, and the hairs on my neck prickled. Was it my imagination playing tricks with me, again? I shook my head, but the silhouette of a swift shadow flying toward the castle gates hadn’t vanished.

An archaic fear took hold of me. This shadow, I was certain, didn’t belong to one of Leliana’s agents. And as my head began to spin, blurring my vision, I realized what it was.

Darkspawn. Their presence had invoked my pounding head, not the drinks.

Without thinking, I let go of the handle and began to sprint after the shadow. I couldn’t afford to lose sight of it. It was still too bright to waste oil on lanterns, but since I wasn’t clad in the armor that defined me, the villagers didn’t send me curious glances as I sped past them in the half-dark. 

My skin strained about my bones as exhaustion gripped me, but my eyes were locked at the shadow that sharply turned and jumped into the forests where Nathaniel had led Thom and me. Panting, I pressed myself harder, the soles of my boots barely touching the ground. 

I followed the shadow into the dense forest, almost slipping and tripping on broken branches, rocks, and roots. A curse eloped me as a twig struck my cheek.

“Wait!” I called out hoarsely as the shadow began to disappear into the darkness the canopies offered. There was no chance of me being able to catch it. My legs were shaking. “Wait!”

I hadn’t actually thought my shouts were to be considered, but the creature halted its steps. The flowy silhouette hardened where it stood amongst the trees, making it resemble an uprooted tree trunk shorn of branches. Its body was misshapen and elongated in the light of dusk, but its coat was undoubtedly more rugged than leather -- I shuddered at the thought of dragging my fingers along it. It was difficult to distinguish the creature in the dim light. I squinted, taking a careful step forward as to better see what I thought to be a darkspawn, my heart palpitating in my chest, afraid and intrigued. Though my head banged, every pounding echoing down my stiff neck, I tried to discern its eyes, but there was nothing in its face that reflected the scarce light.

I began to wonder if this was a dream. I reached out my hand, turning it around as if turning a key to unlock a mystery. But neither my sight (albeit not perfect) or hand acted as if I was stuck in a dream. I pinched the back of my hand, as I’ve heard people say one should, but all it did was hurt a little. Had I not felt pain in my dreams?

I swallowed hard, returning my gaze to the creature. Only a darkspawn’s presence would invoke such a rippling sensation of dread inside me, but it didn’t behave as one or resemble anything I earlier laid eyes on. Nonplussed, we stood there, warily studying each other. 

The barks of a faraway deer made me come back to life. I wetted my lips, reaching for the dagger in my boots. 

“Brother?” I asked softly, remembering the jarring hisses that earlier beckoned me. “Have you come to bring me home?” The vision of me as a ghoul flickered inside my mind, seeing myself aimlessly wander the halls of the Deep Roads, no longer felt alien. The cold, dark underground was not much different from where I was, anyway. 

But I clutched the dagger in my hand. Just because I nearly wanted to accept its offer, I couldn’t. Just because Leliana forbade me from killing Morrigan and Kieran didn’t mean I, given time, wouldn’t. 

My boots sank into the soft moss beneath me, pressing water over my toes, as I closed the distance between us. I still couldn’t see its eyes, and its jutting skin should look more like leather, not bark. Maybe this was a breed of darkspawn I had yet to meet; after all I went through, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. 

I heard it take a deep breath, but it didn’t speak; it didn’t move except for the slightest of a quaver. If it was a darkspawn, I should have been able to smell it. In the Roads they waded through feces, their insides rotten, their skin putrified. As on cue, I felt a waft of it; I shuddered, wanting to pivot about and run. I didn’t.

“Sister?” I tried instead. “Are you here for me?”

Still no response. My mouth was dry, and I struggled to swallow. That was when I realized it. The smell appeared _on cue._ Tentatively, while holding my breath, I reached out my dagger. The sharp blade scraped against the bark, and small, dry pieces fell to the ground, hiding among the pine needles. It still didn’t move, and I began to laugh madly, just as one would imagine a crazy person do -- as I assume my aunt had. I sagged to my knees, hugging myself, hysterical tears flowing down my cheeks. It was only a tree.

I talked to a tree. 

Darkness swallowed me where I lay, broken and more deteriorated than I thought possible. My teeth chattered in the cold of the night. I wondered if this was how limbless insects felt after children plucked them.

“Help,” I implored quietly, hoping Leliana’s agent was out there, watching over me. But I heard no cooing whisper, no rustling of vegetation, no soft footsteps approaching. 

I was lost; it was too dark, the unknown forest too vast. It reminded me of the Korcari Wilds, and I sniffled at the memories. Of how Morrigan had healed me back to life after Ostagar; of how she hunkered over a fresh set of animal tracks in the mud, guiding Alistair and me to Lothering, to Leliana, to a future I couldn’t have foreseen.

“Elissa?”

My eyes shot open, my tears stilling on my cheeks, my sobs fading away. I hadn’t misheard. Morrigan stood before me, the gnarly crooked staff in her right hand emitting an orb of blue, sweeping light. Was it worry I heard in her voice? Her hair was loose, tumbling over her shoulders, glimmering. I was reminded of all times I had tangled myself in it. 

I gathered myself together and reached for the dagger that had slipped out of my hand, clutching its hilt. Was she, too, a creation of my own imagination? 

“I will not fight you,” she continued softly, drawing closer. The long hem of her dress -- nightgown, I noticed -- made it seem as she glided toward me. “But I won’t let any harm come to Kieran or me,” she continued, her tone gentle and merciless.

My hand suddenly cramped -- I stared at it, disbelieving, and the dagger dropped to the ground. The metal glimmered in the blue light. I clutched my twitching hand in my other, electric pain shooting through me. 

“Are you real?” I asked meekly, not meeting her eyes. 

She was silent for a while. My blood coursed loudly in my head. “I am,” she said at last and lay a hand over mine. I winced but didn’t pull away. “Do you feel me?”

I nodded. She oozed warmth, my numbing fingers begging for more. It was she who let go of me. Her gaze wandered about the trees around us as if seeking something. “What are you doing out here?”

I didn’t answer her question. “I have vowed to kill you and Urthemiel,” I instead said hushedly. Her eyes jerked back on me, immediately cold. The blue orb flickered. She no longer oozed warmth. “You cannot stop me.”

“His name is Kieran,” Morrigan said curtly. Now I recognized her, the unforgiving Witch of the Wilds. “And never doubt that ‘tis in my power to stop you. In fact, it would be quite simple.”

I glanced back where the dagger laid in the hope of being able to snatch it, but it was gone. “You have not changed,” I said hotly as I saw the dagger dangle by her hip. She had stolen my only means of protecting myself. Anger spiked inside me. “Instead of apologizing or begging me for forgiveness, you threaten me.”

She quirked a sculpted brow. “If I recall correctly, ‘twas you that began.” A brief pause, the coldness thawing. “If I had, would you’ve accepted my apology?”

 _I do not know, probably, yes._ “No.” 

She gestured with her hand. “It settles that, then.” Her eyes returned to scan the brush, trying to figure out why I had been crying in the midst of nowhere, before she suddenly pivoted on her heels, leaving me behind. 

“What are you doing?” I asked her, fear creeping back into me. “You cannot leave me! Not again!”

I hadn’t meant to add the last part to the sentence, and my voice cracked at its sincereness. Abandonment, even by who I had deemed to my nemesis, frightened me to my core. It was probably a gift from my time in the Fade -- a place where she had sent me. 

She stopped, her knuckles whitening around her staff, but she didn’t turn to me as she spoke. “We need to talk,” she said, her voice clipped. “This is not the right place. You are perfectly free to follow me out of here.” 

I snorted. “Why not now? Because no one is here to believe your lies?” I balled my hands into fists. “You even managed to get Leliana on your side. Did you spellbind her?”

“What were you doing here?” she asked again, ignoring my tirade. She held my gaze for a few moments as if she knew something was amiss and wanted me to crack. I refused to crack in front of her; I refused to crack more than I already had. 

“If I tell you, will you answer my questions?” I shuddered from the cold, but it was immediately forgotten because what she said next surprised me; I hadn’t thought her to comply. 

“I will,” she said, sounding tired. Her grip on the staff loosened, and she faced me. In her face, I didn’t see the monster I painted her to be; neither did I see the twenty-year-old apostate who just left the Wilds. She looked like a thirty-year-old woman, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at me, her eyes never leaving mine. I still looked like I did the day I put my sword through Urthemiel. She had robbed me of my life, and I felt my nostrils flare at the thought. 

“Well,” she prodded me. “Enlighten me of why you’re here in the forest all by yourself.” 

I bit my underlip, averting my gaze. The dagger mocked me from where it hung on her hip. Perhaps this was my only opportunity to get some answers, however lousy it felt to reveal my lunacy. I steeled myself, clearing my throat. I was handing her the greatest weapon I could give; my vulnerability, my insanity.

It was not the highest price I’d paid. 

“I followed a darkspawn,” I murmured. I felt her eyes judging me as I reluctantly added, “Or what I thought to be a darkspawn.”

A quiet moment passed. “What was it?”

I writhed. _A hallucination,_ I didn’t want to tell her. _My mind is sickened._ “I answered your question.”

She lifted her brows, a swift urging movement. “If so,” she said, “Ask what you want to know.”

“Where am I to begin?” I let out a humorless cackle and counted each question on my fingers. “Why are _you_ here in this forest? Why did you lure Alistair to impregnate you? Why did you leave me when I needed you the most? Why did you want Urthemiel to live? Why did you send me to the Fade? Why did you --”  
She rose a pale hand, hushing me. “There’s no need for you to go on. I understand.” She sounded frustrated, but what had she expected? 

“I shall tell you it all," she continued, the blue light dancing across her face. "Everything I say to you, I said to Leliana when she met me in the White Palace.” 

And thus she began.


	18. Chapter 18

“The Ritual was the reason Flemeth wanted me to follow you. At first, I didn’t question her motives, not until Kinloch. The Black Grimoire offered more answers than I’d dared to dream, and the more questions.”

“That she was to kill you,” I remembered quietly. The pain, the shock in Morrigan’s eyes the night she confided in me had been genuine. 

Now, however, Morrigan only nodded indifferently at the mention. “What I didn’t tell you at the time was that the other grimoire, the one you acquired after killing her, held information about the Ritual. Mother had not told me the whole story, only what she thought I needed to know. Which,” she added bitterly, “wasn’t a lot.

“After Riordan revealed what was to happen to the one who slew the archdemon, I hoped you would come to your senses. Alas, you are undoubtedly the most obstinate person I ever met. Flemeth aside,” she added with a small gesture of her hand. She took a brief pause, eyeing me, before continuing. “Alistair was easy to sway after I told him what the Ritual would mean to you. ‘Twas over before it began. Knowing you would never forgive me for wanting you to live, I left.

“I didn’t come far before I decided to return. I was struck by fear, you see, afraid I might have performed the ritual wrong or misinterpreted a word. Even afraid of what had rooted inside of me. So I flew back to you, Elissa, only to find you warming Leliana’s bed.”

I stared at her, slack-jawed. Coolly she looked back at me, betraying no emotion. I couldn’t move, even less speak. It dawned on me; she had returned for my sake, willing to spend the night with me, willing to see me through the battle, willing to stay by my side though she knew I, if the ritual indeed had worked, would be set on revenge. 

But the feelings of regret and shame that flooded me ebbed as I realized another thing. If she was telling the truth -- which I in no way could be certain -- I had never before considered Alistair’s role in the Ritual, only envisioned them in a lovers’ embrace. He had, despite our many disagreements, coupled with Morrigan to save my life. She had put that weight of responsibility upon him by dangling my death over his head. Alistair, who had hated Morrigan since the moment we left the Wilds, had been forced to spend the night with her to save me. He had agreed to father an (in the best of cases) royal bastard, or some sort of abomination -- one which was a Warden’s greatest enemy. He had agreed to father an Old God so that I could live. 

“Assuming I can trust you -- which I don’t,” I said slowly, careful to reign my temper, “you were selfish. No. You were more than selfish. You took advantage of him and his good heart. I begged you not to do that. I had already decided.

“You knew exactly what you were doing with the Ritual. I do not doubt Flemeth withheld information from you, I truly don’t, but I cannot for my life imagine you let an opportunity of acquiring powerful magic pass you by. I am sick of your lies, Morrigan. Whether you are lying to yourself or me.” I inhaled sharply, my arms prickling in the cold. “Did you sleep with me so that I were to help you persuade Alistair to go through the Ritual?”

“No,” she said quickly, a hint of reluctance in her voice. “Not after a while,” she continued more softly, taking a tentative step toward me. “I grew to care for you.”

Her words were not knives, but they left me bleeding. As anger filled my chest, tears filled my eyes. I didn’t know the woman who stood in front of me anymore; perhaps I never had. 

She stopped her steps as I backed away from her in revulsion. 

“I was selfish,” she admitted quietly. “I would rather have you alive and hating me than dead and waiting. But then you died, anyway. For the first time since I was a child, I found I had failed. When the word of your heroic death reached me ...” She broke our eye contact, blindly staring into the dark forest. 

“Alone and afraid, my belly began to grow. Flemeth’s grimoire didn’t convey what was inside me. I brewed herbs, trying to get rid of it. But it only grew stronger. And then, one day, I began to sense Flemeth’s presence. I should have known not even you were able to kill her. Desperate, I found a place where I could hide from her, and so I did.”

“The place behind mirrors,” I said. “Eluvians."

She quirked a brow at that, a note of surprise in her voice. “You remember.”

“I remember everything about you, everything you told me,” I said flatly. 

She swallowed. “When I birthed Kieran, I was relieved. I counted his fingers and toes, and at first, nothing seemed abnormal. When he laughed, I nearly forgot what was inside him. _Nearly_ forgot. Every day, I did my best to teach him self-control, on how to ignore the voices inside his mind.” She gave a small shake of her head, her voice close to quavering. “He is more than I deserve.” She returned to look me in the eye, and her voice steadied. “I promised Alistair not to tell Kieran how he was made, of who his father is, and I never did. I never will. Of this, I assure you, Elissa.”

Unmoved by her display, I asked, “And how did you come to serve the Empress?”

“I couldn’t stay in there forever. Kieran needed to see other people. ‘Twas unfair to give him the same, isolated childhood I had. And what place could be safer than by the Empress’ side? No one would be looking for us there. Except for Wynne, of course.” She gave an unexpected smile at the memory. “She was ailing, and I firmly believed she was delusional when she said you were trapped in the Fade. But she was adamant and put me in contact with her son.”

I wetted my lips. “Rhys.”

“Yes. Then I got word he, too, passed.” Morrigan shook her head. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and my cold heart cracked involuntarily at the sight. “I did everything I could. I tried to communicate, to find you in my dreams, to open portals. It was impossible, and I understood there was much I yet had to learn. Then, when I thought all was lost …” She held out her white hand, palm down, and there it was; my ring’s other half flashed on her finger. “I sensed you, Elissa.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, shimmering like mother-of-pearl in the blue light that shrouded us. Her mouth was firm, and her pale, beautiful lips balanced emotions she never before had shown me. Despite the chill of night, I started sweating. A tremor sprang up inside my belly, making me shiver uncontrollably, but I was paralyzed to the spot, staring at her. She went up to me, carefully, just as the Spirit of Faith had done so long ago, and put a palm on my forehead, as if she was taking a sick person’s temperature. 

I leaned into her touch, and she brushed a stray curl off my forehead, placing her brow against mine. When she curled her arm around my back, like a protective shell, I didn’t withdraw.

Morrigan patted my back in rhythm, pulled me closer, closer, closer. I breathed in the scent of her. Perhaps my imagination tricked me -- as it so often did -- but I believe I felt her lips widen in a smile against the nape of my neck as her tears wetted my bare skin. 

All I could think was I would rather have this than revenge. I would rather have this than a world free from the Old Gods. I would rather have Morrigan. 

Why did I continue to fight it? What use was it? Centuries, heartbeats, it did not matter. My love would never assuage.

If Duncan thought it to be a crime, if my parents would think less of me for this, I would do nothing but accept their rejection. 

“I truly thought you were dead,” she whispered, pressing me closer, her warm breath tickling my neck. “I thought I killed you. But here you are.” 

“You didn’t kill me,” I said hoarsely. 

Sweat covered my entire body, the insides of my ears itching with dampness. A drop ran into my eye, and I blinked, breaking the spell she had on me.

I couldn’t afford to be deceived. My mind was tricking me; her words nothing but lies, nothing but hallucinations stemming from my deepest desire. Nonetheless, all of the strategies formed in my mind all presupposed an attack by her. I found that I didn’t care whether her motives were born from her selfishness, Flemeth’s manipulation, or a twisted, mad desire to protect the abomination she birthed. As my fingers touched the blade hanging on her hip, I was disgusted with myself. I was unable to attack her first; to fulfill my fate; to finish what I started. If I, in this moment of foreboding, had been standing on the edge of a steep cliff, I would have jumped to my death. I didn’t want to face myself ever again. 

Blood coursed in my head as her embrace hardened. 

“You did something far worse.” 

I snatched the dagger from her hip, stumbling backward. The blue orb dissipated, leaving us in the dark of night. Morrigan breathed wheezingly where she stood, stiff and abandoned. Sobbing, I slid the dagger down my boot.

While I could envision her jaw tightening and her eyelids closing as I pulled the bloody blade from her body, I could no longer imagine _me_ doing so to her. To myself.

To kill her would be to kill the last, vaguely human part I still possessed. 

“I loved you,” I said, snot bubbling out my nose. “I still do. But you lured Alistair, and you stole my death from me. You sent me to the Fade! I thought I was sentenced there for my sins. I thought I were to be there until the end of time.” I collapsed to the ground, hulking. “How will I explain my resurrection to the First Warden? I am no one, anymore. I am nothing. I have shamed my Order, shamed Duncan’s memory. I shouldn’t let you live, Morrigan. I shouldn’t let Urthemiel live. But you are tying my hands. The only reason I am breathing is that I was obsessed with righting our wrongs, but now I am incapable of even that.” I looked at where she stood, seeing only the whites of her eyes. ”You ruined me.” I closed my eyes, my voice a hushed whisper. “You are worse than Flemeth. At least she let me pretend I killed her.”

“Deception is bliss?” Morrigan lit the blue orb, the tears still on her cheeks. “I admit I betrayed you, and I admit I used Alistair. I admit I was selfish. I still am, because given the opportunity, I would do it again.”

She hunkered down before me, tilting her head, holding her balance with the staff. 

“If you prefer deception, I can lay here before you and beg for your forgiveness. You said you wouldn’t grant me that, and I said I would do what I did again, given a chance, but what difference does it make? We are here and Kieran is to no harm. Why care about the First Warden, or the Order?” 

Her soft hand cupped my wet cheek.

“I understand if you despise me, and I understand if you never want to lay eyes on me again. But know this. In two days, I am leaving with the Inquisitor, knowing you won’t hurt Kieran in the meantime. Perhaps my absence will give you some time to think. When Corypheus is defeated, and it is what you wish, Kieran and I’ll disappear.”

She sighed and stood up.

“I am not much for words of affection, my Warden, but know that despite all my faults, you cradle my heart in your hands. I may not belong to anyone, but if I did, it would be to you.” She paused briefly, her gaze lingering on me before she turned around. “If you wanted me to take you back to Skyhold ...”

Scrambling up to my feet, I remembered there was another question she hadn’t responded to. “Not until you tell me how you found me here?”

She smiled sadly. “I lost you once and refuse to do so again. I asked Leliana for permission to keep an eye on you.”

I shook my head, exasperated, tired, and confused. “Why would she forgive you? Why would she allow you that?”

Morrigan’s voice softened. “She forgave and allowed because she would have done the same.”


End file.
